A Thief's Mystery
by FantasyBard
Summary: A case involving ciphers, murder and smugglers forces both Sherlock and Brenna to join forces. Working together reminds them of the first time that they met, and the surprising fact that in each other, they had found their equal. Full summary inside. Sherlock/OC.
1. Origins

Hello, both to the old readers and the new ones who just happened to click on this story because it caught their attention. Here is my second installment of my Sherlock series, A Thief's Life. This is a sequal to the first story that I published, which took place during A Study in Pink. I hope that you like this new installment, I had quite a lot of enjoyment out of writing it. So without any further ado, let's jump right in.

Sherlock Holmes: A Thief's Mystery, or The Blind Banker

Sherlock and Brenna have an unusual relationship. He, an analytical, seemingly emotionless consulting detective, and she a former thief turned work release advisor on matter of white collar crime. Yet, it is difficult to deny the attraction between them. John Watson, the new flat mate of 221B Baker St., sees quite a lot. He sees the humanity that Brenna brings out in Sherlock, and is convinced unlike many, that their love for each other is genuine.

But not even he is prepared for how perfectly Brenna and Sherlock function together. When an unexpected case causes them to join forces, he's about to see just how much the one complements the other. In a case involving ciphers, murder, and a dangerous ring of Chinese smugglers, John, Sherlock and Brenna are going to need their combined resources to solve the case of the blink banker.

But Sherlock and Brenna's talent for working together started at the very beginning, on the case that brought them together two and a half years earlier. Back then, they really didn't like each other, but they found themselves intrigued. Brenna found that Sherlock was a man who she didn't have to keep secrets from, and Sherlock would encounter the one woman who always seemed to have an unexpected surprise up her sleeve.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes. It belongs to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, and the man who inspired it all, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I am only making use of this for my own pleasure and that of anyone who cares to read. The only thing that I do own is a complete works of Sherlock Holmes and the Sherlock DVD's.

Rated T for scenes of violence and sensuality.

Origins:

It is a truth universally acknowledged that you can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle. At least, this fact is acknowledged if one is the world's only consulting detective who considers his word to be unquestionable.

To be honest, John Watson didn't know if you could tell a good Chinese restaurant by looking at the door handle. And he didn't think asking Sherlock would really be the best idea. However, it proved true that the restaurant was indeed one of the better ones he had eaten at. And with Sherlock and Brenna along, it made the outing all the better. He had missed human interaction ever since returning from Afghanistan.

It was somewhat hard to believe that only a few hours ago, they had tracked down a dangerous serial killer. To watch Brenna and Sherlock talking and laughing so easily, one would have thought that this was a completely normal evening among friends.

But John was beginning to realize that normal had a very different meaning when it applied to these two. He was beginning to understand that with Sherlock, but what Brenna's secrets were, he still hadn't a clue.

However, Brenna proved to be just as observant as Sherlock on some matters, and so it was perhaps no surprise when Brenna unexpectedly turned to him in the course of the conversation and said, "Now, John, are you going to start asking those questions you have about me, or are you going to allow yourself to sit there and die or curiosity?"

The question caught John off-guard, and for a brief moment, he wasn't sure how to respond. "What makes you think that I have questions about you?"

Brenna shrugged. "Everyone always does. I have to admit that nearly every part of my life is unique. It can be very confusing for some people to follow."

"Now that you mention it, I have been wondering what exactly your position in the police department is. Sherlock was referring to that Alice Bennett you were talking to as your handler."

"That's putting it mildly." Muttered Sherlock.

"Sherlock, that's an exaggeration and you know it." She turned back to John. "To answer your question properly, Alice Bennet is a Detective Inspector in charge of the White Collar division at Scotland Yard."

"White Collar?" asked John.

"Yes, art theft, insurance scams, bond forgery, it's our department that takes care of it. Don't ask Sherlock, he finds 90% of the cases that I work to be dull."

"Any idiot can forge a cheque." Said Sherlock, "You can always tell them a mile off if you know what to look for."

"And I do, Sherlock, from first hand experience. It's how a got my start, so I suppose you think me an idiot as well." She smiled at John, "See, I told you that he only calls people idiots that he like."

"But you were caught." Said Sherlock.

"I wasn't caught, I turned myself in."

"If you hadn't, they would have caught you anyway. That's what Bennett always told me."

"Wait, wait just a minute." Said John, who got the feeling that the bantering between these two could very well go on for hours, "What do you mean, you turned yourself in?"

In answer, Brenna raised her left trouser leg, and John saw the black tracking anklet that was fashioned around his ankle. "Quite attractive, don't you think?" She said, rather lightly, "I'm thinking of starting a line of them when my work release is finished."

John was rather surprised by this latest revelation. "So, you were a thief?"

Brenna smirked. "Actually, the only thing that they were able to link to me definitively was bond forgery. Everything else was based on hearsay and rumors."

"And since you are your own best advertiser, you naturally add to those rumors yourself. And you were suspected on a dozen other things that they couldn't prove, or didn't want to because they liked you to much." said Sherlock.

"Sherlock, do you want to tell the story or my sordid past of shall I?"

"I'm just trying to make it more interesting."

"Sherlock, I appreciate the effort," said John, "but I would rather hear it from Brenna, if you don't mind."

Brenna chuckled at Sherlock's expression, which looked as though he minded very much. "You'll have to forgive Sherlock, John. He doesn't like to be reminded of the fact that when we first met, he couldn't tell that I was a criminal."

John looked at Sherlock, in mild disbelief. "Seriously, you weren't able to work that out?"

"She wasn't wearing her anklet at the time." said Sherlock, almost too defensively. "She's too good at covering her tracks; otherwise I'm sure that I would have deduced it right away."

"Right, so long had you known her before you were able to deduce the fact that's obviously such a large part of her personality?"

"Not until I actually told him." said Brenna, with a smile.

Sherlock squirmed a bit uncomfortably, and John grinned. He rather liked the idea that there was someone on Earth who could hide such a big secret from Sherlock. "Sounds like you two have quite a history."

"Oh yes, I can assure you of that, going all the way back to the beginning."

Brenna told John about the first case that she and Sherlock had ever worked together, a set of two similar jewel thefts which had forced them to combine their resources and work together. It had not been an easy task to accomplish. Their egos had clashed, they had argued nearly unceasingly, and they had come close to nearly killing each other. However, they had also found that they worked remarkably well together. They had solved the case in record time, and so Alice had made a point of putting the two of them together more than once over the years to bring about the same results.

She then related the rest of her story to John, about how she had finally been arrested for forgery and sentenced to five years in prison. However, Alice Bennett, the woman who had been tracking Brenna nearly her entire criminal career, had managed to get her out on work release. The tracking anklet kept track of all her movements. Though she was normally confined to a two mile radius, that restriction had been eased in former months due to her exemplary behavior. If she wanted to go outside of it on her own, she needed to call Alice for permission first. Most of the time, it was normally granted without any difficulty.

It was a fascinating story, and John had to admit that he was impressed. "You seem to be easily impressed by things a lot of other people find questionable." Said Brenna.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's be realistic, John. Introducing yourself as a former thief doesn't mean that people will be taking a shine to you immediately. Hardly anyone at the Yard trusts me, and there are even some members of my family who don't speak to me because of the things I've done. You claim to be impressed. I don't know where that worries me or not."

This first night that John spent in the company of Sherlock and Brenna was only the first of many over the next few months. John observed them in various places and in various frames of mind. Doing so, he gained a great deal of insight not only into who they were separately, but together as well.

When Sherlock and he had gone to Angelo's that first night when they had been tracking down the serial killer cabby, John had asked why Sherlock called Brenna his partner and not his girlfriend. Sherlock had been rather surprised that John couldn't tell the difference when it was so obvious. Sherlock had said that girlfriend was far too ordinary a term, one that could not even possibly begin to define all of what Brenna was. He considered a girlfriend to be passive, dull, a misnomer. Partner, however, indicated someone who was an active and equal participant in an endeavor.

John hadn't known if that was entirely true, but Sherlock certainly did, and he quickly learned that when he was referring to the two of them in a romantic sense, only the word partner would do. Brenna seemed a little more liberal about the application of the proper term. But she actually seemed very flattered that Sherlock put so much time into defining their relationship. It was his own way of showing that he cared.

The actual terms of the relationship turned out to be just the beginning. Sherlock never called Brenna anything other than her name. That wasn't actually a surprise, when John thought of it. Terms of endearment were not really Sherlock's style. Then again, he really didn't need them. Sherlock seemed to have dozens of different always of saying her name that conveyed an entire breadth of emotions, from exasperated annoyance to playful amusement, to unconscious tenderness and everything else in between.

John also observed that Brenna seemed to be immeasurably patent when it came to Sherlock's oddities. He could sometimes be blatantly rude to her, or sit absolutely still for hours on end without even acknowledging her presence. But, she took it all in stride. She had known Sherlock for two years, so she had known what she was getting into well before she had fallen in love with him. It would have been foolish to think that he would have changed over night.

This patience and understanding did not mean that she allowed Sherlock to get away with everything and anything. As John began to see, Brenna was one of the few who could speak to him and get him to see reason when he was in a fairly unreasonable mood. She could be just as stubborn as Sherlock, and many times, when it came to a battle of wills, Brenna always seemed to win.

Oh, the two of them had their spats and fights, and oftentimes, John would find Sherlock sprawled out on the couch, sulking about a fight which he and Brenna had had. But they always seemed to make to up again in the end. Even here, a look was all that was needed for peace to be restored.

It was certainly not a normal relationship; that was part of the reason why John found it so interesting. He soon did find out that what Brenna had said was true. People did not trust her, and the disapproval that seemed to follow her and Sherlock was evident as well. But, he never could see it that way. For John Watson was in a privileged position. Whether he was aware of it or not, he was one of the few who were able to see the small, subtle shows of intimacy that passed between Sherlock and Brenna.

It was really quite simple: Sherlock and Brenna completed each other. John just knew that they loved in each other, and in the end, despite whatever their outwards habits, that was all that mattered. In that respect, they were really no different than any other two people in the world who were in a relationship. John was a newcomer to their world, but yet, he felt like he had been there much longer. His trust and acceptance of them was rewarded by the same things on their part. John couldn't have known that when he had made the choice to move into 221B Baker St. his life would be changed irrevocably, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

And the adventure was only about to begin.


	2. An Ordinary Day

I have gotten a lot of positive feedback on the first chapter, and I am so glad that everyone is enjoying it. Thanks so much. It means a lot.

This chapter really brings it into the stroy proper of Blind Banker. Since this chapter involves an added character, some parts of the episode might be slightly AU. Just something to keep in mind. We also are going to meet a lot of new characters in this story, so I hope that you enjoy them.

An Ordinary Day:

For the most part, Brenna Ryan was very much on her own when it came to the inside workings of the Yard. Aside from Alice Bennet and Greg Lestrade, there were very few people on the police force who actually trusted her. Hardly surprising, considering her past. However, after two and a half years, Brenna had sometimes hoped that they might have moved beyond that.

But, there were two other officers who she worked with regularly, who had managed to overcome their initial prejudice and actually come to trust her, and they even seemed to like her, in their own strange ways.

One was Alice's Sergeant, Patrick Carson. He had been on the Force for the past seven years, and he had a spotless record. He was somewhat sarcastic, especially when it came to arresting the criminals that they were constantly tracking down. He was also a realist, and hadn't been to keen on Brenna at first. However, once he had seen how committed she was to the cause of the White Collar unit; he had started to think better of her. The two of them had established a rather good working relationship, with a good deal of friendly competition and good natured insults passing on both sides.

The other was a newbie on the White Collar crew. His name was Trevor Bates. He was in his early twenties and fresh out of basic training. He was still learning the ropes, so he could sometimes be naïve and clueless, in the most endearing of ways. At the same time, it was sometimes his way of looking at things, so totally without preconception, was a refreshing change. He also possessed a near hero worship of Alice Bennet, whose reputation on the Force was somewhat legendary (it wasn't for nothing that she was called Iron Lady). It also turned out that he had spent quite a great deal of time researching Brenna herself, and meeting her seemed to be the icing on the cake.

These two had become Brenna's closest working partners over the last few years, and it made coming into work ever day a pleasure rather then a burden.

A typical day pretty well represented began when Brenna came into the White Collar office, only to be greeted by Patrick and Trevor. Trevor was leaning against Patrick's desk, and the two of them were evidently deep in conversation when Brenna came in. When they saw her, Patrick motioned for her to come over to them. "Hey, Brenna, come over, we're in need of your artistic expertise."

"I don't know if I like the sound of that." said Brenna, as she came over, especially when she saw the somewhat questionable gleam in Patrick's eyes. "Are you two trying to humiliate me?"

"Hey, if you can help us, you won't have to worry about that." said Patrick, with a grin, "Unless of course you don't think you know the answer."

"I never said that, I just don't like playing the odds unless I have some idea of what those odds are."

"Don't worry, it's nothing to complicated." Said Trevor, rather eagerly, almost too eagerly Brenna thought. "We were just discussing the Sistine Chapel."

"Okay, that's a rather odd topic to be on this early in the morning. What about the Sistine Chapel?"

"Well, Patrick here said that you saw it while you were in Rome, and that you knew everything about it."

"Pretty much. I can tell you the circumstances that led up to it, the political situation and the propaganda that most of the figures were meant to represent. I could even conjure up the names of Michelangelo's assistants."

"But Michelangelo didn't have any assistants." Said Trevor, "He did the entire thing by himself."

Brenna looked at Trevor, "Uh, Trevor, do you have any idea how big the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel actually is? Michelangelo would have collapsed from exhaustion if he had to do the entire thing by himself. He had assistants, their names have just been lost to history. And I can also tell you that he didn't paint the frescos lying flat on his back, he had to bend over backwards, literally."

Trevor's face fell, and Patrick beamed. "Pay up, Trevor."

"Wait, is that what this is about?" said Brenna, "Patrick, are you playing on Trevor's relative newness to the force?"

"Well, I might have mentioned something about it, but Trevor didn't believe me. He seems to accept your word as gospel truth, though. So I bet him twenty pounds that you would say exactly what you did."

"Yeah, he did." said Trevor, rather sheepishly. "God, I feel like an idiot. I should have known better than to bet against your knowledge."

"Yes, you should have. But Patrick should have known better than to prey on your inexperience. I say keep your money so that he will learn not to do that, and you remember in the future not to make any bets until you know something of the competition. That's what I learned."

"Brenna, come on. Trevor is going to have to learn who he was working with at some point."

"Oh, I think he already has a very good idea of that, Patrick."

"So, the Sistine Chapel, is it really as beautiful as all the pictures make it out to be?" asked Trevor.

"It is one of the wonders of Rome, and that is saying something." Said Brenna, with a smile, "You should see it at least once before you die. Later on, I'll tell you all about it in more detail. Right now, here comes Alice, and it looks like she's on a mission."

Alice was indeed coming their way, and the focused, determined look on her face was the one she always wore when a new case was brewing. She stopped at the little gathering assessed them, "Most officers congregate around the coffee pot, and they do it around ten in the morning. What are you all doing lounging around here at eight thirty?"

"Work place bonding." Said Brenna, "We were just showing Trevor here the ropes."

Alice eyed them. "All in your own special ways, I'm sure."

"Why are you giving me the evil eye, Bennet?" asked Patrick, "How do you know it wasn't Brenna?"

"Because I think Brenna is a bit more welcoming of the newbies then you are. And don't think that I didn't see you talking with Trevor when I came in. If anything's going on, I know that you had something to do with it. Besides, fun and game time is over. Get in the conference room, we have a case."

As Brenna, Trevor and the rest of the team gathered in the conference room, it was clear that the expression on Alice's face that this was no ordinary case which they were about to be briefed on.

"I received a call today from the higher-ups at INTERPOL." She said, without a preamble.

"What's got into them now?" asked Patrick, "They wouldn't be asking the help of the Yard, not if there was something serious going on."

"This is what tipped them off." Alice turned on the screen in the conference room, and all of them saw the screen shot of a website, a record of the Chinese artifacts which had been sold in the various auction houses around London. "Anyone see anything suspicious about these items?"

"You mean, besides the fact that they're all rare and most likely long lost treasures from the Chinese dynasties?" said Trevor.

Patrick looked at him. "You didn't know about the Sistine Chapel, but you can just from just looking at the screen that those are Chinese artifacts?"

"Hey, I'm not a complete idiot. It just seems to be the logical place to start. Ever since Mao's revolution in China, those artifacts which weren't out of the country already were put on lockdown. Nothing could go in or out of the country."

"And since the borders have become a bit more relaxed, that history is starting to come out a bit more." Said Alice, "There's a lot more interest in these sorts of things recently, especially among the museum scene."

"The donors are also all anonymous." Said Brenna, "Perhaps not entirely suspicious in and of itself. But, from what I can tell, the greater majority of those artifacts are coming from the Ming Dynasty, and all within the last few months. Where did this mystery donor find all of them? Not by fair means, I can tell you."

"INTERPOL was able to follow the money trail." Said Alice, "They were all too several bans in Hong Kong, all of them with known ties to a Tong."

"A what?" said Trevor.

"A name for ancient Chinese crime syndicates." Alice explained, "They're the Asian equivalent of mob organizations. They deal in drugs, weapons, anything illegal and guaranteed to make a lot of money and a lot of trouble very fast. Now, it seems that they are trying to expand their business to include antiques as well."

"If INTERPOL has traced the money, why can't they make any arrests?" asked Patrick.

"That's just it. They didn't know which Tong is doing the smuggling." Said Alice, "And it is smuggling, that much they know. INTERPOL wants us to look into it because they said that some of the smugglers are people local to London. They fear that any of their own agents will draw attention."

"Is that the only reason?" asked Brenna.

Alice rolled her eyes and said, "Well, they might have said something about needing your expertise. It seems that our success rate is getting us noticed. But don't let the personal attention give you a big head, Brenna. Don't forget that not to long ago, INTERPOL was breathing down your neck. You're lucky I got to you first. You wouldn't have been getting a release deal from them."

"Still, it lends some prestige to the department, doesn't it?" asked Brenna.

"You are impossible, Brenna." Said Alice.

"Thank you."

"That wasn't meant to be a compliment and you know it." Alice retorted, "I would advise shutting up now before you find yourself on desk duty for the rest of the week."

Brenna was by no means beaten with this statement, but she also knew that Alice would, in all likelihood, carry out her threat. She didn't want to risk losing out on a case that could finally be interesting.

"Now, if we can get back on track." Said Alice, "There is one person especially of interest that INTERPOL wants us to check out, and where out investigation will be starting". Another image came up on the screen, this time of a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties. "Edward Van Coon, a banker with Shad Sanderson in the City. He just so happens to be the head of Hong Kong trading at the bank."

"Seems rather a bit convenient." Said Brenna.

"Not to mention the fact that he seems to have recently lost five million pounds in a morning and gotten it back in less than a week." Said Patrick, looking at the notes on Van Coon, "One doesn't make that sort of money without taking a few considerable cuts from outside forces."

"It's the perfect cover." Said Alice, "His business requires that he take frequent trips to China. No one even thinks to question it. I doubt if even his employers suspect anything. Now, we can't prove anything on just this. There isn't enough direct proof. But I think it would be a good idea to give Mr. Van Coon a discrete visit."

"How discrete?" asked Brenna, with a smile.

"Discrete enough for you to handle Brenna. The two of us are going to see him as soon as this meeting is over."

"The usual routine, then?"

"Yes, I ask the straight questions and make everyone nervous. You observe all the outward signs for anything that I might miss. The rest of you, start putting together a list of Van Coon's partners and acquaintances. I want to see if there is anyway we can track his business associates in this smuggling ring."

This brought the meeting to an end. As Trevor, Patrick and the rest left the conference room, Alice noticed Brenna's excited look. "Would you quite looking so happy? Honestly, after all these years, the level of excitement these crimes produce in you can still be rather disturbing."

"You know what I think, Alice. I find artistry in well-crafted thefts. There is something about a well-done smuggling operation which gets my blood pumping."

"Because you've done a fair bit of it yourself?"

"You steal a rare Monet or Picasso; you have to get it out of sight somehow. And that starts by getting it away from where you took it in the first place. It's often the most adrenaline producing event of the entire con."

"Yeah, well, just don't forget whose side you're on this time."

"A little hard to." Brenna gestured to the tracking anklet around her leg. "I've got a constant reminder."

Suddenly, their conversation was cut short by the ringing of Alice's mobile. "Bennet…" Her face became serious. "Are you sure about that? All right, I'm on my way." She hung up and glanced at Brenan.

"Not good, I'm assuming." She said.

"Not really, no. we won't be able to talk to Van Coon after all. He's dead."

"Dead?" repeated Brenna, "How? Why?"

Alice shook her head. "I don't know. Apparently there are still a lot of unknowns. Either way, something tells me that this whole case has become even more serious."

* * *

Please read and review.

Next chapter: In which an unsuspecting Detective Inspector encounters Sherlock's powers of deductive reasoning for the first time. A former thief, an army doctor and a consulting detective soon join forces to solve the case.


	3. Teaming Up

Teaming Up:  
By the time Brenna and Alice arrived at the flat of Edward Van Coon, they quickly discovered that they were not the first to have arrived. "Looks like Homicide is moving rather quickly on this one." Said Alice, observing the number of police cars already on the scene. "Nice to see that my brother had left someone competent in charge."

"Lestrade won't be the officer in charge?"

"No, he had to take some personal time off. Charlie sprained his ankle playing football. You know Greg, the only thing that matters more to him then his work is his son."

"No more than your husband and daughters mean to you." Said Brenna, "Though I have to admit that I wish Charlie's ankle could have come at a better time. If Lestrade's not the one in charge of the case, I have rather a bad feeling about the way that this could go."

As it turned out, however there was more than one challenge to be found at the crime scene. No sooner had they set foot in flat then they heard voices coming from the direction of the bedroom. One Brenna didn't recognize, but the other's deep, measured baritone was well-known to them both, herself especially. "Sherlock's here?" She questioned in slight surprise.

Alice glanced at her. "Finding Sherlock at a crime scene surprises you?"

"Not necessarily. It's finding him so quickly that surprises me. Not even Sherlock could move that fast."

"Maybe he really is psychic." Said Alice, just in time for none other than Sherlock himself to appear, along with John and young Detective Inspector, who did not look exactly joyful to have found the Consulting Detective at his crime scene.

"Brenna," said Sherlock, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be encountering her there, "Lovely to see you. What brings you here on this pleasant afternoon?"

"Bennett and I were in the neighborhood, and thought we would drop by."

"Hold on," said the DI, who had managed to get over his surprise, "Who are the two of you and what are you doing in my crime scene?"

"I would watch your mouth if I were you, Inspector." Said Alice, with the steely voice and tough manner which had made her such a force to be reckoned with in the department. She showed her badge to him. "Detective Inspector Alice Bennett, White Collar Division."

Even for those not in the White Collar unit, Alice's reputation was legendary, as was her somewhat unofficial nickname of Iron Lady. In the face of her, the young DI's attitude instantly became more respectful. "Yes, of course. Sorry, Ma'am. Detective Inspector Dimmock."

"Yes, Lestrade has spoken highly of you."

"And this is…" said Dimmock, casting a wary look at Brenna.

"Brenna Ryan." She said, as she held out her hand.

Unfortunately, Brenna's reputation was rather as well known as Bennett's, and it did not garner the same amount of respect, if any at all. Dimmock merely looked at Brenna's hand, than dismissed her with a suspicious glare. Brenna was a little disappointed, but not exactly surprised. She had come to expect no less. However, she did notice Sherlock's jaw tighten when he saw Dimmock's deliberate snub. Obviously, things between the two of them had not gotten off to a great start, and this did nothing to endear the DI to Sherlock.

"I don't wish to seem rude, Inspector Bennett." Said Dimmock, "But what are you really doing here? I wasn't under the impression that homicides were under the purview of the white collar department."

"They're not, except when it coincides with one of our own cases. The victim, Edward Van Coon, I'm assuming, was a person of interest in one of our cases. Brenna and I were on our way to speak with him."

Dimmock looked from Brenna to Alice. "With her?" He asked, clearly skeptical as to what use Brenna could possibly be.

"Yes, with her." Said Alice, firmly.

Dimmock was smart enough to catch the note of warning in her voice, and wisely decided to back down. "Well, that won't be of much use now. Van Coon died of a bullet wound to head. We're obviously looking a suicide."

"It does seem to be the only conclusion based on all the facts." Said John.

"Wrong, it's one possible conclusion based on some of the facts." Said Sherlock.

"Here we go." Muttered Brenna, plainly seeing by the look on Sherlock's face where this was going.

"You have a solution that you like, and you're ignoring anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"What do you mean?" asked Dimmock, who had never seen Sherlock in action, and had no idea what he was getting into.

"The wound was on the right side of his head."

"So?"

"Van Coon was left-handed. It requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left handed?" questioned Dimmock.

Sherlock snorted in derision. It continually amazed him how unobservant these so called Detective Inspectors could be. They hardly seemed capable to detecting anything, and they certainly didn't inspect their surroundings. Sometimes, he felt like he had to babysit the entire police force."

"I'm amazed you haven't noticed. All you have to do is look around this flat. Coffee table on the left hand side. Coffee mug pointing to the left. Pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone because he picked up the phone with his left, and took down messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?"

"No, I think you've covered everything." Said John, as if trying to save Dimmock from any further embarrassment."

Sherlock wasn't one to stop mid rant however. "Oh, I might as well. I'm almost at the bottom of the list anyway. There's a knife with butter on the breadboard, with butter on the right side of the blade, because he used his left. It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of the head. Conclusion, someone broke in here and murdered him; only possible solution for all of the facts." He concluded, feeling more than a little satisfaction about having bested Dimmock, both for their bad first meeting and the way he had treated Brenna a few minutes before.

"But, the gun…" Dimmock tried to say.

"He was waiting for his killer. He's been threatened." Said Sherlock, pouncing on him before he could finish.

"What?"

"Today at the bank." Said John, a warning of some sort."

"And the bullet?"

"Went through the open window." Said Sherlock, as though it were the only possible solution, and it probably was.

Dimmock was rather lost at this point. He might have heard something of Sherlock, but there was a definite difference between rumors and reality. "Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?"

"Wait for the ballistics' report." Said Sherlock, who was putting on his coat, preparing to leave. Now that he had explained everything to the lesser mortals, he would leave them to figure out the rest. "The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it."

"But if the door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

"Good," said Sherlock, with the approval of a parent to a very small child. "You're finally asking the right questions." And before Dimmock could ask him anything else, he was gone. John muttered some quick form of apology or farewell, and hurried after him. Dimmock looked after Sherlock, his mouth slightly agape, before turning back to Brenna and Alice.

"Yes, he's always like that." Responded Alice to his unanswered question.

"In fact, he can sometimes be much worse." Said Brenna, "You obviously must have caught him one of his better days."

Dimmock looked back in the direction of Sherlock's exit, obviously tying to comprehend how he could be worse. But then he managed to shake himself out of it, and turned back to speak to them, or more specifically to Alice, as he was still making a point of ignoring her presence. "Right, you were saying about that case, Inspector?"

"Oh yes, Edward Van Coon. We were coming up here to meet him on a case of some urgency. We think that Mr. Van Coon may have been caught up in some rather unpleasant business."

"And if he was being threatened, that could have something to do with why he was murdered." Said Brenna.

Dimmock was at last forced to acknowledge Brenna directly. "We still don't know if this was a murder for sure, Miss Ryan. I think it would be a good idea if you didn't put so much certainty into Mr. Holmes' words."

"As if you would have any idea of his reputation."

"Brenna," said Alice, warningly.

"I do know of Mr. Holmes' reputation. I also know of yours." Said Dimmock, scathingly, "So excuse me for thinking that you might be just a little biased. Mr. Holmes isn't a professional, and the flowing endorsement of a former thief who happens to be involved with him isn't rather reassuring."

Brenna's temper flared. "You have the word of Lestrade to go on, if that good enough for you? The truth is, Detective Inspector, if you, at least didn't keep Sherlock's words in mind, this case will be over before it even begins."

"I don't have to put up with you." said Dimmock, turning to Alice, he said, "Inspector Bennett, I don't mind working with you, but this is still my investigation, and I will not have her on the scene disturbing the proceedings."

"Alice-" said Brenna, in protest.

"You are quite right, Inspector." Said Alice, cutting Brenna off. "You have every right to make that request. I'll be right back. Brenna, would you mind stepping into the hall with me."

Fuming, Brenna followed Alice. No sooner were they in the hall, than she said, "You can't take me off this case."

"Actually, I can and I just did."

"Alice, you said it yourself, you need my expertise. You know very well that if Van Coon was smuggling for the Chinese Mafia, and if he was killed because of his involvement in it, this situation will only become worse."

"I know that. But I could also tell by the way you and Dimmock were going on in there, we wouldn't be getting anywhere fast. You have to learn to control your temper, Brenna, especially when it comes to Sherlock."

"Thank you for that unoriginal advice. You've only repeated a hundred times since we first met." Said Brenna, "So, you're just going to put me on desk duty for the reminder of this case?"

"I never said that. I need your skills on this, Brenna. But you can't help on the murder of Edward Van Coon with Dimmock."

"Than how am I supposed to-?"

"However, you can work with Sherlock Holmes, who jut happens to be working on a case that bears a striking resemblance to this one."

Brenna grinned, as what Alice was implying caught on. "Going below the radar then, are we?"

"In a matter of speaking. You know I've always thought of lending you out on a free-lance basis."

"I'll have to catch up with him."

"No need, he should be waiting for you in the lobby."

"The lobby?"

"Yes, while you and Dimmock were exchanging barbed insults, I texted him to wait for you. I know he doesn't normally like following orders, but in this instance, I don't think it should be too much of a hardship."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Brenna's phone buzzed with an incoming text. She took it out and looked at the message on the screen: **Waiting in the lobby for you. Hurry up. SH**

"Well, what are you waiting for?" said Alice, smiling slightly at the grin which appeared across Brenna's face. "Duty calls."

Brenna needed no further encouragement. She turned and hastened off to continue this new case. It may not have been the one she had been planning on. But she somehow got the feeling that it would turn out to be a lot more fun.

* * *

John had been able to clearly see that Sherlock wasn't in the best of moods when he had left Van Coon's apartment. They had been doing so well, and now everything would ground to a halt because of one young idiot Detective Inspector who was eager to prove himself. Well, John was sure that was how Sherlock saw it.

"So where to now?" said John, since he really had no idea.

"We need to talk to Sebastian before rumors of the police case get to him." said Sherlock, "That ridiculous story about a suicide will become more trouble than it's worth."

"Good luck getting him to see as a murder. No banker likes to hear that one of their employees has been murdered. Makes them wander if they'll be next. Suicides are much cleaner."

"The simple solution." Sherlock agreed. "But this isn't so simple. Someone went to a lot of trouble to murder Van Coon." Sherlock's stream of thought was interrupted by the sound of his phone. Looking more than a little annoyed, he pulled out his phone and looked at the text on the screen.

John was somewhat surprised when Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, stared at the text, and slowly a grin spread across his face. "Well, at least something is looking up." He turned around abruptly back towards the direction of the elevators, typing something on his phone as he did so.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" asked John, who couldn't see any reason why they would need to go back to Van Coon's flat.

"Just got a text from Inspector Bennet. She's asked us to wait here."

"Wait here? What for?"

"Not what, who."

Before John could ask Sherlock for a straight answer (a task that would take awhile to accomplish), he received a further surprise when the elevator doors opened and Brenna stepped out. She spotted them and came walking over, a big grin on her face. "So, Sherlock, looks like the powers of destiny have thrown us together on a case once more."

"That's just a poetic way of saying that you and Dimmock couldn't get along and Bennet is sending you to me to keep you happy and out of trouble."

"And don't say it as though your not pleased." Said Brenna, with a knowing smile.

"Excuse me, could someone please tell me what's going on?" said John.

"It's really quite simple, John." said Brenna, "Ever since Sherlock and I met on our first case, there have been times when we've needed to repeat the experience."

"Work together, you mean?" said John, a little skeptically, "That doesn't seem to be something that Sherlock would understand."

"Yes, well his expertise and mine are different, but for some reason, both Lestrade and Bennet seem to think we work well together."

"Independence and connection." Said Sherlock.

"Excuse me?" said John.

"Independence and connection. That's why they say the partnership works so well, I'm not bound by the whims of the Yard and Brenna has the connection to get it done."

John looked from one to the other. "I see what you're trying to say. But the fact that you're seeing each other doesn't impact these investigations at all?"

"No, of course not." Said Sherlock, "It's purely professional."

"Professional, right." said John, "So, the fact that you're entire day seemed to brighten when you got that text has absolutely nothing to do with it."

Sherlock turned to his friend. "John."

"Or, let's not forget that just this morning you were saying how much you missed her. No, of course. I can see that you're not feeling anything beyond a professional capacity."

"John, shut up." Hissed Sherlock, more out of embarrassment and desperation not to show the weakness of emotion than anger. John was getting a bit too good at seeing the feelings that Sherlock tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world. He didn't really like the fact that he could be discerned so easily.

"All right, boys, calm down." said Brenna, "We do have case to work on. This won't trouble you, will it John?"

"No, it might actually be a relief to have back when it comes to Sherlock."

"What on Earth can you mean?"

"I could think of several dozen on my own." Said Brenna, "But there are more important things to be working on."

"Right you are, Brenna." Said Sherlock, "Come on, John. Try and keep with us, if you can."

Sherlock was off before John or Brenna could respond. Brenna exchanged glances with John. "Back up, you say?" She said.

"I might have spoken optimistically. Something tells me a whole battalion couldn't keep Sherlock under control."

* * *

Please and review. I love hearing what my readers think.

Next chapter: Every good good partnership has a beginning. We already know how John and Sherlock came together to begin solving crimes. We still have yet to see how Sherlock and Brenna first met. Needless to say, it was not love at first sight, or even liking at first sight for that matter.


	4. Flashback I: Underground

Sorry for the long update time. I have been in Walt Disney World, and so my mind was kind of on other things. However, I did have some time to get my creative juices flowing and this is the result. It's more a set-up chapter, and Sherlock doesn't appear. However, we do get to meet a new character, so I hope that makes up for it. Please read and enjoy.

Flashback I: Underground Business

Brenna Ryan hadn't known the extent to which her work release would entail. She had assumed that she would be stuck behind a desk, occasionally giving a word of advice to Alice, her immediate supervisor. Truth be told, she hadn't been exactly thrilled with the prospect. But watching from the world from behind a desk was preferable to not seeing anything from behind bars.

Imagine her surprise when Alice had intended to make her a full and working partner the White Collar Unit. This raised more than a few eyebrows among the other officers, who couldn't trust that Brenna wouldn't cut and run at the first opportunity that she got. Brenna, however, had no such intentions. Okay, maybe the thought had crossed her mind. But than again, everyone was expecting her to run, and she had always made it a point to do the opposite of what was expected of her. So, she decided early on that she wasn't going to run. She was going to stay on, and prove them all wrong.

This seemed to turn the heads of everyone, including Patrick Carson, Alice's sergeant. Patrick had been one of the officers who had been present at her arrest, and he had warmed to her within a few weeks of her first beginning to work with him. But even that support would be tested on Brenna's first big assignment with the Yard. A string of clever and seemingly impossible jewel thefts had been brought to the Yard's attention. It was just the sort of case that Brenna's expertise called for.

Brenna didn't even know how much it would involve her. Until the morning that she was called into the conference room by Alice. That in and of itself was a new thing, she had never been called to a meeting with the other officers. "Not another one?" She said, as she came into the room, and sat down right beside Alice, a move which made some of the others raise their eyebrows. Brenna seemed to think that she had some special right to the place. "What does that make, three in the last five days?"

"You guessed it," said Patrick, "This time, though, they've gotten really brazen. All the other hits were from private collections, this one was from a museum, and it's got a story."

"I assume that you have heard the beryl cornet?" said Alice, as a picture of the glittering crown appeared on the conference room screen.

"Beryl Coronet," said Brenna, almost automatically, "It was in the private collection of the Queens of England up until the time of our current Elizabeth. It was first made by Henry VIII for his sixth wife, Katherine Parr. It was meant to be a smaller version of the royal crown, but worn for private meetings with high dignitaries. It was meant to give visiting ambassadors a taste of England's wealth, without going the distance of the crown jewels."

Everyone looked at her, with slightly astonished expressions. They may have had some general idea of the history behind the beryl coronet, but none of them seemed to have had any idea of the more detailed particulars.

"Very good, Brenna." Said Alice, with a rather pleased expression. "This would not doubt put to rest everyone's fears that Brenna would at least have a definite purpose on the team, if only in the realm of her extensive knowledge. "What else can you tell us about it?"

"Well, the gems themselves are rare pink beryls, which are extremely difficult to find. They are encased in pure gold, the circlet itself is comprised of gold, diamonds and rubies. Queen Elizabeth hasn't used it in her reign as it was originally intended for Queens Consorts. Plus such displays of wealth aren't thought of in quite the same way anymore."

"Well, someone obviously thinks it's still worth something." Said Patrick, "It was stolen last night."

"But I thought that the coronet was under wraps for security reasons." Said Brenna, "It's been in a vault ever since it's last use, with the highest security measures."

"And how would you know this?" asked Alice.

"One of the most valuable and legendary jewels in the country? Of course, I make it a point to keep track of such things." This statement caused a few eyebrows to rise and the other officers looked at each other in skepticism. Such outbursts really didn't help to change Brenna's reputation.

Brenna, of course, did not really care in the slightest. "Oh, really? Someone finally managed to steal it? Do tell, give me the details. I want to hear everything. How did they manage to break into the vault?"

"They didn't break into the vault." Said Alice, choosing to ignore Brenna's questionable joy about the break in. "The coronet has been loaned to the Victoria and Albert Museum. They're having an exhibit on the historic jewels of the realm. The coronet was under transport. It was only in low security for an hour. During that time, it was stolen."

"Any fingerprints? Evidence left behind?" Brenna asked Patrick, "Anything that might lead us to them?"

"Nothing, just like all the others." Said Patrick, "They only thing that they left was more mocking on the security camera."

"Wait? What did you say?" said Brenna.

"This." Said Alice, the screen went to the security footage of the night before. It showed three thieves, a man and two women, wearing ski masks and gloves brazenly stealing the coronet. They kept their backs to the camera the entire time, being careful to never allow a full shot of the face to be seen. Until the very last moment, when they took the time to throw a few fingers at the camera, and other obscene gestures.

"And they've done that every time? Said Brenna.

"Yeah, every time." said Patrick, "They know how to stand to that we can't get a facial scan on them."

"Well, at least we know a little bit about who we're dealing with." Blank looks stared back at Brenna. They clearly didn't know what she was talking about. "These people aren't professionals, not yet. They're right on the cusp of that. They're advanced enough to know how to break into these places and leave no physical evidence, but they still need to learn how to keep their egos from getting in the way during a heist."

"And you've never allowed yourself to put your name out there in the midst of a hit?" said Alice.

"I never allowed myself to do that until I knew that I wouldn't be giving myself away. Like any true artist, I didn't sign anything until I actually knew that it would be a masterpiece. I think I know how we're going to find these people."

"How?" asked Patrick.

"Sotheby's is doing a big jewelry auction next weekend, aren't they?"

"You're not saying that these thieves are stupid enough to try and sell well know stolen goods at a place like Sotheby's?" said Patrick.

"Of course not. But there is an underground parallel to what goes on at Sotheby's. All the best buyers are in town. As long as they can get a good price on something, they don't ask questions where they might have come from."

"And you're saying that's where these thieves are trying to get into the main scene by selling at this underground Sotheby's?" asked Alice

"Yes and the coronet just might be their big ticket. If we could get someone inside who knows their way around, we might be able to find our thieves."

"Okay," said Patrick, "anyone here have undercover experience infiltrating a black market jewelry auction?"

"Regina King might." Said Alice.

"Who?" said Patrick, "Alice, I don't think we have an officer named Regina King."

"She's not exactly an officer." Said Alice, who looked pointedly at Brenna, who suddenly seemed absorbed with the report on the table in front of her. "Regina King is a smuggler. She managed to get a shipment of Pearls out of the museum in Berlin, right under the noses of the security guards, not to mention at least three hits that involved Moroccan diamonds."

"Sapphires." Said Brenna, almost without thinking. "They were sapphires."

"I know that, I just wanted to see if you remembered it. I think that we have an expert sitting right her, Patrick. Regina King is one of Brenna's aliases, air tight and solid enough to get past the most discerning eye."

"There's just one problem." Said Brenna, "Were Regina King so inclined to help, you would have to remember that we're not talking about a hand off of merchandise in some discrete location. This is an exclusive club. They can smell an infiltrator a mile away, and they would immediately notice my anklet."

"Meaning that we would have to cut your anklet." Said Patrick, "Well, I guess that about settles it. Nice idea, anyway."

"We'll do it." Alice said, cutting him off.

"What?" said Patrick, in disbelief.

"What?" said Brenna, who hadn't been expecting this turn of events.

"It's the only lead we've got." Said Alice, "I'm willing to take the chance."

"And how do you know that she won't cut and run at the first sign of an opening?"

"Thank you for the overwhelming vote of confidence, Patrick."

"Don't get any big ideas, Brenna. We'll still get a way to keep track of you." said Alice.

"How?" asked Patrick.

"We'll find a way. No more objections, Patrick. This is my choice. The rest of you, start working on something viable that we can get for Brenna to offer on the black market. There must be something in our confiscated jewels that will get the attention of whoever is behind this."

The rest of the conference room cleared up, some of them obviously more than a little surprised at the way in which the meeting had gone, and perhaps even questioning Alice's sanity at the same time.

Brenna could certainly understand that. "You know, some would say that you're taking an awfully big chance." Said Brenna.

"Perhaps, but then, I didn't get to be a Detective Inspector by playing it safe. Neither did you, I expect. That seems to give us something in common, as strange at that might seem."

"True," said Brenna, with a smile, "Thank you for giving me a chance. I won't let you down."

"I know that, Brenna, or should I say, Regina King."

* * *

When Brenna had first come to London as part of her work release, the questions of where she would stay had been a potential headache for personnel at the Yard. There didn't seem to be any place that would fit what they thought a former thief deserved. To many, a small flat in one of London's less than posh districts seemed quite fitting. However, Brenna had gotten used to the finer things in her life during her four years as a thief, and she had other ideas. Fortunately, she did have some former friends amongst the shadowy side of London, and it was to these that she now turned to.

His name was Rodney Norris, or sometimes Mason Nichols, or maybe even Jack Morton. But to Brenna, he was Shane Masterson. Shane had been something like a mentor to her when she had first started off on her journey as a thief and con artist. She had certainly learned from the best. Shane had never been caught, because he never left a trail. He was simply that good at covering his tracks. Rumors and suspicion could follow his name, but there had never been enough information to actually bring him in.

Ostensibly, Shane ran a respectable antiques shop in London. He was in his late forties, with graying brown hair, and black eyes. He was something of a charmer, which a con man ought to be if he possibly could. Plus, his previous three divorced wives could also attest to the fact of his charm. However, his shop was actually a front for many other business dealings, most of them on the shady side of being legal. Shane was a fence for stolen merchandise; he was an expert forager, and if any major deal was going on with ten miles of London, it was a safe bet that he knew about it.

Despite the fact that he was not the most honest of people, Shane did have a code of morals which he absolutely refused to budge on. His exacting standards of where his goods came from were somewhat legendary, and could cause no small amount of headaches for people who tried to sell to him. Not only did he insist on quality merchandise, he would not buy or sell anything that had been acquired by the shedding of blood and none of his forgeries could be used to perform violence. It was perhaps from him that Brenna had developed her own aversion to killing people, and her dislike of guns in general.

Shane had been good to her during her years on the run, and Brenna knew that she owed him a great deal. However, she had feared that even the friendship which they had built up over many long years would be over. Shane had a professed paranoia for anything that even smelled of law enforcement, and she had thought for sure that he would not want to be involved with her if she was working so intimately with the Yard whose mission was to take criminals like him off the streets. Imagine her surprise when after only twenty four hours in London, he had contacted her with the offer of a fine flat in a nice part of London. Brenna had gratefully accepted the offer and now, Shane was not only her friend, he was also her landlord.

Part of his privilege as landlord, or so he claimed, was to drop by whenever it pleased him, drink her wine and offer her sage advice when she was about to do something incredibly stupid. Apparently, one of those times was when he heard that she was going undercover at the Underground Sotheby's, as the case had been dubbed by the authorities.

"Brenna, have you lost your mind?" He inquired, the night before she was supposed to go under. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Shane, I expect this type of talk from people like Patrick when they refer to Alice taking me on and actually giving me some active responsibility. I don't expect to hear it from you. I'm surprised that you're even objecting. I thought that you would be thrilled that I'm visiting my old roots."

"Brenna, what happens when you get caught? News of your arrest has gotten around, and they know that if you show up you'll be working for the Feds. They would take you out so fast that your buddies in the vans wouldn't be able to help."

"In the first place, I'm not going in as myself; I'll be going in as Regina King. Regina King is a solid alias, Shane. You helped me come up with it back when I was starting, so you know that it's secure. Besides, what makes you actually think that I will get caught? I never have before."

Shane looked down at her anklet significantly. "You sure about that, because I think that Big Sister might have some objections to that."

"Her name is Alice Bennett, Shane." On top of all his other oddities, Shane hardly ever referred to people by their actual names. He preferred to give them ones that he had made up himself. He only called people by their names unless he liked them. Alice had quickly been dubbed Big Sister for the way that she watched Brenna like a hawk, or so he said.

"Right, whatever. All I'm saying, Brenna, is that you are walking a very fine line. You stand in the exact center of the moral spectrum here. If anyone at the Underground even suspects you of being an agent, you will be escorted off the premises, and if Big Sister even thinks that you are drifting towards you old ways, she'll have you back in a cell in no time."

"Shane, what are you talking about?"

"Brenna, can't you see? This is classic. Why do you think she's giving you this big assignment so soon after she let you out of prison? It's a test, she wants to be sure that you can be trusted, but subconsciously, she is also hoping to find a tiny sign in you that you want to run. The very moment she sees that, she will have you back behind bars."

Brenna looked at him. "So you're saying that Alice actually wants me to fail, because she wants to prove that I am still a criminal. To do that, she goes to all the trouble of getting me out of prison, getting me on her team, and putting her reputation on the line if this case goes wrong by letting me go undercover without my anklet? Yeah, Shane, that makes complete sense."

"Well, just you wait and see. All law people are alike, Brenna. Sooner or later, they will always turn on you if you aren't one of them."

"Are you done?"

"No, we still have to talk about your psychological well-being."

"My psychological…. Shane, what makes you think that you're a psychiatrist?"

"A con artist who hasn't been caught since he started on the circuit. You have to learn how to read people, Brenna. And no matter how good you may be at that, I am still the master."

Brenna rolled her eyes. "Okay, fire away, Yoda, but don't expect me to listen to you."

"What makes you think that psychologically, you actually want this whole thing to fail just so you'll have an excuse to go on the run again?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's been known to happen, Brenna. People who have been involved in morally questionable actions during their lifetimes might revert even after reforming when placed in a situation that resembles what they did in the past."

"As soon as a I manage to figure out that sentence I'll come up with a devastating reply. Do you think you could maybe just give it to me straight?"

"What makes you think that, so soon after quitting my former career, now put in with a bunch of other thieves, you won't want to go back to being one? You've only got one chance to prove that you're a law abiding citizen Brenna. If you blow this, you won't be getting another way out."

Brenna looked at Shane closely. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was what was really bothering you. Shane, why are you so concerned for me if this thing goes wrong? I thought that you would be thrilled if I went back on the circuit. You were one of my biggest supporters after all."

"And who's to say that I'm not now?" said Shane.

"Because I'm on the other side helping to catch white collar criminals whose activities suspiciously mirror yours." Said Brenna, "I would have thought that you would be worried I would come after you."

"Hey, I've had the law on my trail before. I can't say that I am thrilled with your choice of career change, but I also know that you weren't given a great many options. And I would rather that you were out in the world using your skills instead of rotting behind bars. You're a free spirit, Brenna. You would have gone crazy in jail, or driven yourself to distraction about the guilt you're feeling about your family."

At the mention of her family, Brenna's eyes became sad and she looked down. Shane lifted her face up so that they were looking in each other's eyes. "I know that we said we would never talk about it, but you have to face facts eventually, Brenna. You feel that you have a lot to make up for, and you wouldn't have been able to do that if you were in prison. At least working with the police and Big Sister, you've got something to do so you're not moping around all the time. You're still the brightest thief I ever trained, and I still want what's best for you, and if this is it, I'll support you still."

Brenna had gone through a great deal of rejection in the past few months. Returning home to her father's funeral after a nearly four year absence, her family had promptly turned their backs on her, refusing to even allow her to attend. After that, she had been all but willing to give up. But when Alice had showed up with the offer of a deal and then Shane had given her a place to make her own, she was beginning to feel her old confidence return. She would make a new life for herself, regardless of what that meant. She knew that she didn't have to face it alone.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Shane." She said, "I promise I'll remember where I came from, as well as where I'm going."

* * *

Please read and review.

Next chapter: The long awaited first meeting between Sherlock Holmes and Brenna Ryan. Two strong and brilliant people clash together, both literally and figuratively, and when a higher authority forces them to work together to solve a case, it soon becomes apparent that the trouble has only just begun.


	5. Flashback II: First Meetings

Sorry, for the long update time. This was kind of a hard chapter to put out, mainly because so many plot elements of this particular mystery are set up in this chapter. Also, since this flashback is based on the Sherlock Holmes short stories, The Blue Carbuncle and The Beryl Coronet, I thought that I would put in a few references to them in this chapter. Kudos to whoever can catch them all. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Flashback II: First Meetings

The underground element in London knew how to throw a party. In the case of the Underground Sotheby's, one of the poshest hotels in London had been rented for the opening. In the laundry van that was parked across the street and around the corner, the infiltration was about to get underway. The back of the van was outfitted to monitor the activity of undercover agents, with audio sensors to eavesdrop on conversations, computers to instantly access any information that might be picked up in the course of an investigation, and about ten other devices that Brenna didn't even bother trying to identify.

All of the devices were only as good as the agent they sent into trigger them, of course. And there was still a great deal of doubt amongst Alice's team that she was sending in the right person. However, it could not be denied that Brenna knew how to pull off a dress which would turn heads in the club and get her noticed. Brenna's looks were not altogether classic, but she carried herself with an absolute perfect confidence which made her difficult to ignore.

"Brenna, you should dress like that more often." Said Patrick, as he looked her over appreciatively, "I might actually enjoy seeing you come into work every day if you did."

"Like you don't already." Brenna responded.

"Patrick, stop flirting while on assignment, and not with a fellow coworker." Said Alice, before turning to Brenna. "You know what you're looking for?"

"Yes, I have what physical signs we can get on with the thieves from the security camera, and I need to pay attention to any descriptions of items that match the ones already stolen. I'm also going to try and find the Fence while I'm here."

"The who?" Patrick asked.

"He's like the head auctioneer at Sotheby's. He'll be the one in charge of assessing all the merchandise, checking whether or not it's actually authentic, where it came from, that sort of thing. If there's anyone who knows where our thieves are hiding, it will be him. This is the opening night of the whole auction, so I'm guessing that most of the major players are here."

"Good move." Said Alice, with approval, "Find him, and try to get into his good graces. I'm sure that you won't find that too difficult. Oh and one more thing." She held out an exquisite diamond bracelet. "This is your temporary anklet. It will keep track of your movements and record everything that you happen to pick up. I wouldn't suggest trying to take it off. The fingerprint scans will go off if you do."

"Great, thanks for the warning." Brenna said, as she took the bracelet, and examining it for a few seconds. "These are fourteen carat diamonds. You're trying to tell me the Yard actually went to all the trouble and expense to rig one of these to be my personal tracking device?"

"You might be surprised what some of our techies can do." said Alice, with a smile, "The people that we're sending you up against are professionals. They'll be able to see a fake from a mile away. This was the best solution that we could pull off."

"Well, I guess that it fits." Said Brenna, "I think that this is all rather fun."

"Yes, great fun." Said Patrick sarcastically, "You get to go to a big party, with booze and beautiful women, living the high life, while us civil servants get to sit in the van with stale coffee, listening to you having all the fun."

"What can I say, Patrick, some of us were just meant to have the glamorous jobs."

"If you two are finished," said Alice, "We have a schedule to stick to. Brenna, I do believe that you're up."

* * *

Just as she had suspected, Brenna got into the party with no difficulty whatsoever. Her fake ID of Regina King went through with no problem, and she was shown right in. The party was already in full swing. The room was full of people talking together in little groups and, unsurprisingly, congregating around the bar. Brenna didn't go that direction just yet. She had someone that she wanted to find first.

Despite what some people might have thought, thieves in an organized meeting such as this were actually quite honorable with each other. Here, there were a great many thieves from all over the world, and if even one of them exposed the other, it meant that they would be losing whatever profit they stood to gain. Besides, there was also a great deal to be gained from networking with other thieves. Different skill sets could be easily combined to pull off bigger heists, and therefore, bigger profits.

So everyone was on their best behavior. Brenna made it a point to greet everyone she made eye contact with her most charming smile. And it was one of those people that she smiled at who turned out to be the very one that she was looking for. "Excuse me," the man said, catching her attention as she passed by, "I seem to recall seeing you here before. Am I wrong?"

"You wouldn't be." said Brenna, "I sold here for three years in a row, plus other such events around London. Your face seems familiar too."

He smiled at her and held out his hand. "George Burnwell." He said, as they shook his hands. "It is a great pity that we have only ever seen each other and never spoken."

"Yes, it's a real tragedy." She looked him over. She guessed his age to be about 35. He had brown hair and dark green eyes. His entire manner was quite like hers: smooth, confidant, charming. "A real tragedy, indeed."

"Well, perhaps we can remedy that later." Said George, "You can start by telling me your name."

"Regina King." Said Brenna.

"Ah, yes, I have heard a great deal about you, Miss King. Some of your heists are legendary. Some of them are almost beyond belief. However, when I saw some of the stash that you had to bring in today, I thought that there might be more truth to those stories than even I thought."

Brenna regarded him with a look of interest. "So, you already saw my merchandise?" she said, "I thought that was only permitted at the actual sale."

"I am in a somewhat special position."

"You're the Fence, aren't you?" said Brenna, as it became clear to her.

George smiled. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. I have been the Fence of this particular auction for the past two years."

"I see. Well, this will be a first time for me with you." said Brenna. "If I remember rightly, your successor didn't know too much about diamonds. He never really knew how to value them at their full worth."

"Yes, old Arthur was more a sapphire expert wasn't he?"

Brenna looked at him for a moment. "Actually, _her _name was Sophia and her area of expertise was rubies and emeralds."

George smiled in admiration. "So, you did sell here. Very good. You can never be too careful around this time. I have been hearing rumors that some people are already trying to sneak in under the radar, either to try and sell their merchandise, or shut us down."

"There have always been problems with that, I am told." Said Brenna, not betraying any nervousness. She did admit to getting a little thrill out of the fact that she was working undercover and no one yet suspected her. This was actually kind of fun. This whole working on the right side of the law really might have some perksafter all.

"Those are Amsterdam diamonds, if I am not mistaken." Said George, as he pointed out her necklace.

Brenna smiled. "You have good eyes, Mr. Burnwell. I got these from a rather interesting source. There might be a story to them, if the price is right, of course. There are more where they came from."

"I don't doubt that, especially if the reports which I got from you are any indication. I also inspected the merchandise that you sent in. Top quality, and it will fetch in a great price. Judging from your reputation in this field, Miss King, I am not at all surprised."

"I do like to think that I have achieved a good reputation." Said Brenna, "However, I must admit that, that this year is as much a tour of investigation as it is a bid to make a profit."

"Oh, what are you looking for? I'm sure I can help you. No one else can tell you about the jewel underground in London then I can."

"I am looking for someone to go in with me on a possible beryl heist. Do you happen to know of anyone who has gone through a theft like that, recently?"

George took a moment to think, and said, "There is actually someone here who I believe has done a rather major heist of some very valuable and famous jewels that match your description. I am not at liberty to say it, because I am sure that they will want to tell you the story yourself." He gestured across the room to the bar, where a young woman in her late twenties, with a thin, wiry build, black hair and blue eyes was sitting and chatting with another woman. The second woman was smaller then the other, with blond hair and grey eyes. "Those are the young ladies that you want to talk to, Mary Holder and Lucy Parr. There should be another one, I think, James Ryder. However, he was unable to attend tonight."

"I'll go over and see what I can find out, then." Said Brenna, with a gracious smile.

"A pleasure to be of service, Miss King." Said George, "I look forward to seeing how much your prizes fetch for. You will no doubt not regret your time here."

"I am certain that I won't." said Brenna.

She turned from George and made her way to the bar. She looked behind her, but he had already started speaking with another couple of guests, and was evidently not paying any attention to her. She quietly took out her phone and texted Alice. **Did you get that?**

Alice quickly texted back. **Yes, those could be the three that we are looking for. Go and see what you can find out from them.**

Brenna was already on her way there. She approached the two women and just in time to hear one of them, Mary, say to Lucy, "Well, I don't know about you, Luc, but I'm going to call it a night."

"Come on, Mary. The party's just getting started. You can't leave me here on my own."

"I'm sure that you'll do just fine without me. In fact, you'll probably do better."

"Oh, Mary, are you going off because you've managed to get a guy? I can't blame you. There are so many to chose from in this room. What's he like? Is he cute?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, Lucy. For all I know, he could be terrible. Won't know until I try him, will I?"

"Then you'd better disappear. But I expect a full report in the morning."

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be getting one."

As Mary left the bar, Brenna took her place. She didn't strike up a conversation right away, but ordered a scotch, and only after it came did she just happen to glance at Lucy and just happen to notice that Lucy was wearing her wrist and neck. "I congratulate you."

Lucy turned around to look at her. "What?"

"Those pieces you're wearing. They're blue carbuncles, extremely rare, especially in this country. There are only a few places where a person can find them, and all at astronomical prices. I'm surprised that you could afford them."

Lucy smiled. "I think you could probably tell that most of the jewelry wornby the people here hasn't been bought."

"Very true. The old adage about earning what you want is only half true. Sometimes, the act of taking it is a way of earning it into itself." She held out her hand. "Regina King, by the way. George Burnwell directed me to you and your little threesome."

"Oh, the Fence." Said Lucy, "I guess you must be okay, then. I'm actually kind of glad that he did. It's out first year selling here. I was half afraid that we wouldn't get it. I hear it can be murder getting into this place."

"Not literally, of course." Said Brenna, with a smile. "This may be your first year, but it could be a very promising beginning if you managed to snag blue carbuncles and the beryl coronet."

Lucy's eyes brightened. "You heard about that?"

"It's all over the network. The coronet itself is a legendary crown artifact, under lock and key for so many years. And then three people whom no one has ever heard of have the audacity to steal it for the one hour window when it was under low security. That is the sort of thing that takes skill and planning. Tell me, how did you even manage to do it?"

Lucy cast covert glances over both shoulders, and then said, "I'm not really supposed to say, the three of us, we kind of said that we would keep that particular heist a secret."

"Well, I can understand that. Every group needs a little intrigue. In that case, what about this little group of yours? I passed one on my way here, I believe. Where's the other?"

"Oh, James. He really didn't like parties all that much. He tends to stay away. But, he'll be at the auction, don't worry. James is kind of the spy for us. He scouts out all the places we need to strike before we do anything. Mary handles all of the gear and equipment. If we need to climb or crawl anything, she's always the one to go first. And I crack all the safes. I can get through any security system, no matter how well made."

"Sounds like the beginnings of a crack team." Said Brenna, quite sincerely. They did sound like a good team. A few more years, a few more failures to teach them wisdom and caution, and they could actually besomething. There also didn't seem to be any animosity which could so easily infect a group of this nature. Lucy spoke of them as if they were a family. It was almost a shame that they would have to be stopped, and most likely go to jail.

But she still had a job to do, and she would do it. "That sounds incredibly impresive. Perhaps you would be open to a proposition. "

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Mr. Burnwell directed me to you because I have a job about some beryl jewels in Brussels. It's quite a substantial job, but I can't do it on my own. You sound just like the sort of people who could help me."

Lucy's eyes grew wide. Brenna could guess what she was feeling. A beginner thief on the circuit, being offered a chance to get onboard a heist with a major player. It was the chance of a life time. "That would be amazing." Said Lucy. "I'm going to have to discuss it with James and Mary, but we'll get back to you. I promise." She quickly scribbled something on one of her bar napkins and handed it to Brenna. "Here's my mobile and room number. Thank you so much, Miss King."

"Regina, please. I look forward to hearing from you."

Lucy hurried away. It seemed that Brenna's first undercover assignment had gone rather well. Her phone buzzed. She took it out and glanced at it. **Good work. Get back to the van**. It was from Alice, but Brenna felt a little reluctant to give up the chase so easily. This was fun, almost as much fun as planning a heist. And what could Alice do to stop her? True, perhaps she couldn't leave the building without having the entire Yard after her. But as long as she stayed in the party, there was little that Alice could do to stop her without blowing her cover.

**I'll be right there. I want to check in Lucy's room first. BR**

She didn't bother to look at Alice's response. No doubt it would be extremely irate and questioning her sanity.

Lucy was staying in the same hotel as the party. Brenna hurried to the bank of elevators in the lobby and pressed the floor number. She didn't know if this would be a futile errand. Maybe Lucy was in her room, and perhaps she wouldn't be able to get into the room. But Lucy perhaps wasn't there, and every door, even ones in hotels could be opened.

However, she was not expecting what awaited her when the hotel elevator opened onto her desired floor, and someone was standing there, blocking her path. Truth be told, Brenna had been so wrapped up in the excitement of being undercover for the first time, that she had not noticed that someone had been watching her intently for a good deal of the evening, and had been waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Good evening, Miss King." He said, "I wonder if I might have a word with you?"

Brenna instantly froze and assessed the man. He was tall, with a long, lanky frame. His hair was jet black and curly. He had a deep baritone voice that was commanding and smug all at the same time. His eyes were ice blue, piercing and intense. There was also a certain something in his manner, which struck her as being the sort of man who had an incredibly inflated view of himself.

"Who the hell are you?" She demanded.

"Who I am isn't important. However, if you would kindly come with me, we can avoid any ugly scenes later on."

"You honestly think that I'm willingly going to go with you after an invitation like that?"

"It wasn't an invitation."

"Well, whatever if was, I decline."

She tried to move past him, but he was faster and stronger than she had anticipated. Within a minute, he had grabbed her by the wrists, and had her pinned against the far wall. Brenna struggled to get loose, butthough she was a little nervous, she was necessarily terrified. The man seemed to be careful not to hurt her, and there didn't seem to be an angry light in his eyes. Indeed, he just seemed to be irritated that he had to resort to physical restraint.

"I had hoped that you would cooperate." He said,

"Oh, I would have loved to. But you didn't say please."

Brenna didn't really have that much experience fighting. Truth be told, she preferred running to being in any sort of armed conflict. It wasn't that she considered herself a coward, but she just knew that most people she wouldcome up against in the business of stealing were people that she wouldn't be able to win against. Plus, running was simply more efficient. Still, she did know how to defend herself. She was the daughter of a policeman after all, who had insisted that all his daughters be able to take care of themselves. When up against a wall, as she was now literally, she knew how to get herself out of it.

Apparently, the man who was pinning her against the wall was not expecting her to twist out of his grasp and shove him away. She then moved away from the wall to give herself a little space. She was well and truly angry by this point, and she snapped out. "Look, I don't know who you are, but you do not want to mess with me."

"What makes you think that you could possibly be a threat to me?" He said.

"Oh, for heavens' sake, just leave me alone and I'll forget that this whole thing even happened."

"I'm afraid that I can't do that. You have something that doesn't belong to you."

"Really? Care to elaborate?"

"Those diamonds that you're wearing. I know all about the robbery that took place at the Morcar Emporium. You and you're friend are rather brazenly promoting yourselves here by wearing them."

"What are you talking about?" Brenna said, "I didn't steal anything from the Morcar Emporium. These diamonds didn't come from there."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe you when you're wearing the evidence? Diamonds of that same description went missing from the Emporium five days ago, along with some blue carbuncles. As your friend was wearing the blue carbuncles, I'm afraid that you don't have that much to go on."

"Look, I don't know how to tell you this. But you have it all wrong. I didn't even know that woman until tonight, and as for these diamonds, I can assure you that they are legitimately gotten."

"Really? You don't have the money to afford diamonds like that."

"What? How did you-"

"Oh, come now, do you really think that you can fool me? The dress you're wearing, it's well made, but not nearly the designer brand that most people here are wearing tonight. You're trying to fit in, but you can't quite make the cut. Your nails are in a state of disrepair, you obviously can't afford to get a weekly manicure like most of the people here. Your fingers are held in the way of someone who sits at a desk all day typing on a computer, so that means you have a regular office job. But aside from all these very obvious physical signs, your entire manner tonight has been one of someone who is uncomfortable with their surroundings."

"Uncomfortable? I thought that I was doing rather well."

"You have an inflated idea of your own comfort." He said, "You kept looking around you the entire time you were in there, fidgeting and drumming your fingers on the bar while you were talking with your friend. No one who was really comfortable in high society would do those sorts of things. It's a wonder they didn't throw you out."

"Well, no one did. This makes me wonder if you were perhaps seeing things that aren't there."

"You only think that because you're an idiot." He shot back.

Their fight was interrupted by the buzzing of Brenna's cell phone. "More of your associates calling to get you out?" The man asked her, "That will do you little good; the police could very well be here soon if I were so inclined to call them."

"Oh, so now you control the entire police department, do you?" Brenna asked, sarcastically.

"Pretty much." He said it as though it was one of the unbreakable laws of the universe, and Brenna was an idiot for not knowing it.

Brenna looked at the caller ID on the phone, and smirked up at him. "Well, I have bad news for you, Mr. Know-it-all; the police are already here, because I happen to be working for them."

For the first time, the smug expression which had been hovering on his face waned just a little, and it seemed to vanish for a split second altogether when Brenna answered it. "Bennett, took you long enough to actually pick up on the fact that I've been interrupted by some pompous jerk."

"He is a pompous jerk, Brenna. But, he's also on our side."

Brenna raised her eyebrows and looked at him. "He assaulted and pinned me to a wall. You'll forgive me if I find that a bit hard to believe."

"It's hardly my fault that you were acting like a suspect." The man pointed out, as though the entire thing were her fault.

"Yes, well, regardless of that, he does help the police department, in a manner of speaking. His name is Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes? Who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock, as she assumed that's who he was, looked at her in slight shock. "You haven't heard of me?"

"No, and I don't think that I want too." Snapped Brenna, before returning to her conversation, "Look, it doesn't matter. We have eyes on a potential suspect. She was heading for her hotel room."

"Are you sure?" Alice asked her.

"She was brazenly wearing one of necklaces that she stole." Sherlock said, "Of course she is one of them."

There was a pause on the other end, before Alice said, "Thank you very much for intruding, Mr. Holmes. I can see that part of you, at least, is not exaggerated. Brenna, keep following the suspect. But do not engage them until we get there."

"Right." said Brenna, as Alice hung up. She then turned to Sherlock. "Now, do you want to do introductions properly, or should we keep on arguing?"

Sherlock glared at her. "I'm not wasting my time with niceties while there is a suspect to be caught. And I did not ask for your help."

He tried to move past him, but Brenna blocked his way. "Hold on there a moment, Mr. Holmes. I have no idea who you are, but where I come from we always at least exchange names before going in on something together."

"We are not in anything together, and you already know my name, so there is little use in me telling it to you again. Now get out of my way."

Brenna folded her arms and glared at him, stubbornly refusing to move. "I am not going anywhere, not with you asking like that. Is it so difficult for you to at least observe common courtesy?"

"We are wasting time."

"Yes, and I wonder whose fault that is? Look, I'll even make the first move so your fragile male ego won't be hurt by giving in. My name is Brenna Ryan. I'll even say that it's a pleasure to meet you."

Sherlock kind of resented the saying fragile male ego, but something told him that it was would be a bad idea to do that. His first assessment of this woman's character had not been far off. She was stubborn, indeed. But he had perhaps underestimated just how stubborn she was. She would clearly not be letting him pass until he gave her some leverage. Fine, he would play along for now. It's not like he would ever be seeing her again anyway after tonight. "Sherlock Holmes. But I won't degrade myself by stating such a lie as I am glad to meet you."

"Fine, good enough for me. Looks like we're stuck together, though. So, let's go."

They weren't exactly joyful to be together in this particular enterprise. But at the very least, they did not drag their feet. They fairly raced to the hotel room, though whether it was zeal for duty or a race to see who could get there first was another question. It turned out to be a moot point in the end for both of them because they both got there at the exact same moment.

However, as they got to the door, they found that they were most likely too late. The door to the room where Lucy Parr was staying was open a fraction of an inch. Sherlock looked at the door for a moment, before he stepped forward and began to push the door open. "What are you doing?" asked Brenna, "Bennett told us to stay here and wait for her."

"She told you that. She doesn't have any authority over my actions or what I do." said Sherlock, with the self-confidence of one who was used to having his word obeyed as pure gospel.

Before Brenna could say something that was completely rude, Sherlock seemed to go back to ignoring her existence and went into the room without another word. Brenna muttered something under her breathe, before she followed Sherlock into the room. She might as well save him from his own stupidity.

As it turned out, however, there was nothing for anyone to defend against. Brenna and Sherlock came into the room, only to see Lucy Parr's body stretched out on the bed, her eyes wide open and unblinking. They were to late. She was dead.

When the police got to the room, it was soon ascertained that she had been killed by smothering. However, there was no sign of forced entry, and it was clear that the murder weapon was not in the room itself. Neither were the blue diamonds which had been around her neck. They were gone and no sign of them could be found in the room. It might very well have been a simple case of a thief mixing with more than she could handle, a tragic occurrence for many beginning thieves, Brenna was sorry to say.

However, it ws not as simple as that, because Sherlock Holmes was there. Her first impression that she had gotten of him of his arrogance and rudeness were right on the mark.

This was more or less confirmed when Alice came up to him and said, "Mr. Holmes, at last we meet. I've heard quite a lot about you."

"Of course you have. I would question your brother's credit if he didn't."

Alice looked at him. "My brother?"

"Your brother is Detective Inspector Lestrade, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is." said Alice, after a pause. "Very good. Not many people on the Force know it. It's something we don't normally discuss."

"Well, be that as it may, I have to confess I'm disappointed."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, you're sending rookie officers into potentially dangerous assignments." He gestured at Brenna, who was not at all charmed that he kept bringing up her apparent naïveté about this particular assignment. "It's her first undercover assignment. This kind of operation requires skill and experience. I would have expected more from a Detective Inspector. "

"I'm touched that you're so concerned about my people."

"I'm not. Her ineptitude could have exposed you all and my one lead would have been lost."

"Excuse me, but since we're on the subject, how did you get in here?" said Brenna, who had finally had enough of his insults.

"I know the man who was catering this event. He was able to sneak me in."

"Ah, so you had to sneak in through the back door, while I was able to stroll easily through the front door. Given that, I wonder which one of us had a greater likelihood of being discovered."

"Save it, Brenna. That goes for you too, Mr. Holmes. If you don't mind, what if your connection to this case?"

"I'm investigating robbery of jewels from the Morcar Diamond Emporium."

Alice looked blank, but Brenna knew what he was talking about. "It's a store that deals exclusively in rare diamonds."

"Of which, one set were the blue carbuncles that Lucy Parr was wearing tonight. The fact that she's not wearing them now most likely means that whoever killed her was after those jewels."

"And what made you think that my undercover agent was a part of that heist?"

"The diamonds she was wearing tonight match the description of German jewels that were stolen during the same heist."

"These aren't German diamonds." Said Brenna, "I can tell you right now that they are Amsterdam."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

"The differences are quite obvious if one knows what to look for." she shot back, taking some pleasure in the fact that there was something in this situation that she knew more about then SherlockS

Sherlock knew what she was doing, and shot her a harsh glare, one that did not affect her in the slightest. "Anyway, I managed to track down the thieves to this hotel tonight, and I was trying to get one of them on their own in order to bring them in for questioning. Then your pet investigator showed up and ruined my one lead."

"I'm sorry for that." said Alice, who really didn't sound sort at all. "At any rate, there is little more that you can do here, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"You expect me to leave when this case had suddenly gone interesting?'

"I'm sorry, interesting?" said Brenna, skeptically. "A woman died tonight."

"Exactly, first it was a jewelry heist with no fingerprints or other evidence left behind, save for their mocking on the camera. Now, it's a murder that bares almost the exact same marks as the robbery. But the fact that the victim knew the killer is quite obvious. We're dealing with someone in the thief hest itself."

"What? How were you able to come up with that?" asked Brenna.

It seemed to be the exact invitation that Sherlock was looking for. "Whoever the killer was, she was waiting in the room for Lucy. Since there are no obvious signs of a struggle, Lucy knew her quite well. However, there was some suspicion on her part as to why her killer was there. This because there are no indentations on the bed where she might have relaxed, since there's no other comfortable place to sit in a hotel room. That means, she didn't know why her killer was there, even if she did know her. Lucy was also killed from behind, a pillow I believe, as nothing else can quite so efficiently muffle any screams or breathe. But Lucy would have flailed, trying to get out, but the carpeting doesn't have any sign of that."

"The carpeting?" Alice said.

"Yes, amazing invention, carpeting. The state of it can tell you the entire history of a person. This carpeting is thick; it leaves a mark for every person who passes over it. Deep, abrupt marks would indicate a violent struggle. But there are none of those. The killer must have been stronger then Lucy, keeping her still by force, until she died. After that, they took jewels, and left the same way they came in, by way of the balcony."

"And how would you know they came in through the balcony?" Alice inquired.

"It's been raining tonight, heavily. The outside balcony is damp, and there are damp footprints leading in and out."

"If they came in through the balcony, than how did they escape?"

"Either to the balcony above or the one below. Both rooms are identical to this one. That should cut down on the number of suspects you have to investigate, Inspector."

Silence. Brenna, despite herself, was astounded. He had delivered the entire series of deductions without so much as pausing for breath, and yet, with an ease that made it seem completely natural. He had also fluidly pointed out every single piece of evidence, to the point where Brenna wondered how she couldn't have seen it before. Alice regarded Sherlock with a critical eye. "I can see that my brother hasn't exaggerated about you after all." she said, finally.

"Exactly, which, I believe you will find it best if you allow me to continue this investigation on my own, and fill you in on the pertinent details as they arrive."

Alice looked at cirtically. She then said, "Tell me, Mr. Holmes, is it true that you have been indicted before on possession of cocaine and meth?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed with surprise. "I thought that Lestrade was going to keep that out of his report."

"Oh, he did. But you are right, in one sense. He does talk about you, a great deal. He mentioned that you were arrestedmore than once on a drugs charge, but you were released after a relatively short time. It would certainly be a distinct problem in your life if you were to be arrested for the same thing again, and have it placed on your permanent record."

For the first time since she had seen him, Sherlock looked a little less than perfectly confidant. Alice had away of intimidating even the most hardened of criminals. That steely eyed grey stare could systematically strip away every defense a person had, and whether they wanted to or not, they always ended up squirming just a little bit. "You couldn't actually do that, you know." Sherlock managed to stammer out. "I'm clean. Lestrade is a witness to that. I haven't touched any abuse substance for two years, at least. That charge is all but forgotten."

"Perhaps, but it would mean that you would be kept tied up enough so that you couldn't interfere with this case. I would do that in a minute. But that would be a great deal of trouble, for both of us. I'm sure that we don't want that, do we? So, we can go with the alternative."

"There is no alternative as far as I can see. If you insist on being so stubborn that you can't accept the help of an expert, that is your problem."

"Whoever said that I was going to try and do that? You see, along with your unfortunate past, my brother has also been rather voluble in his praise of your incredible abilities. I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I am willing to work with you, Mr. Holmes, if it means that we can crack this case, and bring this killer to heel before anything else happens. We'll do this your way, but we'll do it with my rules. You want to work on this case, fine. But I won't have you keeping information from me. One of my people is going to be working with you, and I can assure you that they will keep me informed of any events that transpire."

"That's not an alternative, that's the exact same thing only put in different terms. I am not going to be a babysitter to one of your idiotic amateurs."

This last statement was spoken loud enough so that everyone in the room could hear. Since most of them fell into the category of those idiotic amateurs, they all turned to look at him with mixed expressions of shock and disapproval.

To Alice's credit however, she was not at all fazed by Sherlock's superior attitude. She had seen the tactic to many times before. Sherlock was clearly trying to unnerve her by his repeated insults. It was a trap that she would not allow herself to fall into. She continued staring at him steadily, and when she spoke, her voice carried no hint of argument. "It's my best offer, Mr. Holmes. Take it or leave it."

For several seconds, both Alice and Sherlock engaged in a staring match. But the winner was pretty much already decided from the start. Alice was a hard woman to beat, even for a brilliant consulting detective like Sherlock Holmes. He seemed to recognize the same iron will in Alice that was so formidable in Lestrade, and he could see that she wouldn't back down. She would carry out her threat, and being in prison was not something that Sherlock wanted to experience. It was so boring in the jail after all, at least if his short stay on a former drug charge had been any indication.

That didn't mean that he had to enjoy it though, and he had already decided that whoever this Bennet had planned for him, he would not make it easy for them. Nonetheless, he did nod, a bit sullenly, but it was enough to satisfy Alice. She looked around at her officers, and all of them avoided eye contact, pretending to be very busy with whatever investigating they might have been doing. They were just hoping that Alice wouldn't pick them. But Alice had someone else very different in mind.

"Brenna, say hello to your new temporary partner."

Brenna gaped at Alice. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, how lovely." Said Sherlock, sarcastically. "You assign me to a novice undercover officer on her first case. That's almost worse than one of them. You could have at least paired me with someone who knew what they were talking about."

"I beg your pardon, what do you mean, novice?" asked Brenna, "Are you implying that I'm an amateur?

"Of course." Said Sherlock, without missing a beat, "Your incompetence in this matter is obvious to anyone who knows what to look for. It's quite honestly a surprise to me that you were able to get as far as you did in that party."

"Remind me than who did manage to get in the front door, while someone else had to sneak through the back? I can tell you, Mr. Holmes, that if you had been backed into a corner, you would not have been able to talk your way out of it. I think that the only person who I stood out for was you."

Alice had been watching this back and fourth with some amusement. "Well, I can just see that you two are going to get along remarkably." She said, in the slight pause between Brenna firing off one round and Sherlock starting to get another insult in. "You don't suppose that you could save your insults for the morning, could you? We can't get forensics in here until this place calms down. I'm afraid that our arrival has disrupted the party downstairs."

"Yes, but this hotel was only for the opening party. It won't be there main staging area." Said Brenna, "They'll all be staying at different hotel tonight, most likely."

"Yes, including whoever our killer is." said Sherlock, with that same style of being absolutely right which he had made in his deductions before. "Whoever was in the room above will most likely have disappeared by now. I suggest that in the morning you focus your attention on the rooms above and below this one, Inspector Bennett. It will most likely yield more leads than anything you could find in here."

"Thank you for the suggestion." Said Alice, wryly. "In that case, I will be seeing the two of you here tomorrow. Do me a favor, and try to be on time both of you. 7:00, sharp."

Both Brenna and Sherlock took a moment to exchange glances that were little short of glacial. Neither of them liked having to answer to anyone; they didn't like being responsible for anyone but themselves. They didn't have much choice this time. Alice had effectively tied their hands. However, they were bound and determined that they would not enjoy it, nor would they be liking each other. This was going to be a very long case.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Please drop a review if you have the time. I don't think that the next chapter will be that long in uploading.

Next chapter: We switch back to the present day, and catch up with Brenna, Sherlock and John. The case has only started it's twists and turns. Plus, Sherlock doesn't really like it when men like Sebastian flirt with Brenna. But than again, he's not going to admit that, is he?


	6. Starting the Case

Just want to say that I am watching the opening ceremonies to the Olympic Games in London while I am posting this. I may be a little dorky, but I think that's cool. Good luck to all the athletes.

Starting the Case:

_PRESENT DAY…_

Once the three of them had gotten into a cab, Brenna said, "Now, seeing as our two cases coincidence, what is that let you to Edward Van Coon in the first place?"

It hadn't actually been Van Coon himself they had gotten involved with. An old friend from Sherlock's university days had contacted him. Sebastian Wilkes, a prominent banker at Shad Sanderson Investments, had brought Sherlock into take a look at a strange case of breaking and entering.

Someone had broken into the Chairman's office in the middle of the night, sprayed graffiti on the walls and then left. There had been nothing stolen, and no doors had been opened or closed, so how the culprit even got in was a mystery and the whole thing had taken less than a minute.

But the graffiti was not some random markings on the wall. It had been a specific message to one specific person, a warning.

"The message was intended for Edward Van Coon," said Sherlock, "That led us to his flat, where he was already dead."

"If he was already dead, how did you even manage to get into his flat? All the doors were locked from the inside."

"Sherlock climbed in through the balcony." Said John.

Brenna stared at John for a few seconds, then glanced at Sherlock. "I'm not surprised, somehow."

"At any rate, that's the case as it stands so far. What about you? Something tells me that a man like Van Coon wouldn't be just a random person you and Bennett decided to investigate."

"No, actually. We were there to interview him about a case that just come in Van Coon might have connected with some sort of Chinese smuggling ring."

"Smuggling?' said John, "Why would a prominent banker be interested in smuggling?"

"The same reason that Sherlock puts his life on the line every time he takes a case." said Brenna, "He's bored. It must be admitted that the life of a banker isn't really all that exciting."

"Do they have any idea who was running the smuggling operation?" asked Sherlock.

Brenna shook her head. "No, there are hundreds of smugglings that go out from China and criss-cross the world. Tracking down the source of even one of them can take months."

"Well, if we can find the person who killed Van Coon, that might be a help to you in shutting this one down." said Sherlock.

"That's what Bennett was hoping when she assigned me to work with you." said Brenna, "Where exactly are we going now?"

"We're going to see Sebastian." Sherlock said, "He's having dinner wit his executives."

John looked at Sherlock. "How on Earth did you guess that?" Before Sherlock could answer, the doctor held up on hand and said, "You know, on second thought, keep it to yourself, I would rather not know."

A few minutes, they pulled up in front a restaurant that Brenna recognized to be one of the most expensive in that part of London. In typical Sherlock fashion, he breezed past the maitre d', who was so startled by the intrusion he didn't even ask if they had a reservation. There weren't many people in the restaurant, hardly surprising as the prices were astronomically high. Therefore, Sherlock had no problem zeroing in on Sebastian. He was in a meeting with some posh executives, all of whom Brenna assumed were under him in some way, since Sebastian was the only one talking, while the others were laughing at jokes that they probably didn't think were very funny.

Sherlock didn't let the fact that Sebastian was obviously stop him from standing on ceremony. He strode up to the table and declared without any preamble, "Eddie Van Coon was being threatened. That's what the graffiti meant."

Everyone at the table froze mid-bite and looked at him, wondering who this strange intruder was. Sebastian, who wore the expensive suit, impeccable haircut and smooth, oily expression that seemed to exist on the faces of all stereotypical bankers, seemed more than a little embarrassed by this sudden intrusion. "I'm in a bit of a meeting. Can you set up an appointment with my secretary?"

"I'm afraid this can't wait, sorry, Sebastian." Said Sherlock, who didn't really look sorry at all. "One of your traders, someone in your office was killed."

A stunned silence greeted this announcement. Everyone at the table looked at Sebastian, clearly wondering how he could be involved, and what this might mean for his career.

"What?" said Sebastian, who didn't like the implications of what murder meant.

"Van Coon." Said John, "The police are at his flat."

"Killed?" replied Sebastian, almost unable to believe it.

"Unfortunately yes." Said Brenna, "A single bullet to the head. Kind of hard to escape that."

Sebastian looked a little confused at the appearance of this new member. "Sorry, you are?"

"Brenna Ryan."

"Are you with the police?"

"In a manner of speaking. I hope that doesn't bother you."

Sebastian, despite the shocking announcement that had more or less ruined his lunch meeting, still managed a smile at Brenna. "No, I don't mind at all."

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion." said Sherlock, almost too quickly, almost if he were trying to change focus of attention away from Brenna. He clearly didn't like the way that Sebastian was looking at her. "Still want to make that appointment? Would 9:00 at Scotland Yard?"

"Of course, that would create something of a scene." said Brenna, "A very well-known bank executive going into Scotland Yard. And should the real reason get out… well, let's not dwell on the worst shall we?"

Sebastian shifted a little uncomfortably. Brenna and Sherlock were ganging up on him, John realized, playing upon his fears of a scandal to try and get him to talk. "Or, you could just tell us what you know now." said John.

Sebastian seemed to get the message and excused himself hurriedly from the meeting. He led the three of them off into a more secluded part of the restaurant. Once they were out of ear shot, Sherlock immediately asked, "How long had Van Coon been working for you?"

"About two years." said Sebastian, "He was highly recommended, and I can't say that he ever disappointed. Harrow, trained at Oxford. Very bright guy, worked Asia for awhile."

"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts?" said John.

"Lost five million in a single morning, made it all back a week later."

"That sounds terribly convenient." Said Brenna, "Did he give you any indication that he was nervous about anything at all?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Never so much as batted an eye. Nerves of steel, Eddie had."

"I'm sure that he wanted others to think that." muttered Brenna, "As head of the Hong Kong accounts, I assume that he had to travel there quite a lot."

"Yeah, once or twice every month. Eddie had a lot of contacts there. He made good use of them."

"I'm sure he did." said Brenna.

"Who'd want to kill him?" John asked.

"We all make enemies." Replied Sebastian.

"You don't all end up with a bullet in your temple." Said John.

"Not usually."

At this moment, a text came into Sebastian's phone. He read the contents of the message, and he immediately looked incredibly relieved. "My chairman. The police have been around to him. Apparently, they're telling him it was a suicide."

"Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered." Sherlock insisted.

"I'm afraid that the police don't see it that way." Said Sebastian, "And neither does my boss."

"Seb…" Sherlock tried.

But Sebastian wasn't willing to listen. Like Dimmock before him, he saw a solution he liked, and he wasn't willing to see it any other way. Murder was messy and complicated. It interrupted the flow of business and profit. Suicide was so much easier to deal with. "I hired you to do a job, don't get side-tracked."

He made a move to leave and return to his business meeting. But as he passed Brenna, he paused and said, "Look, I don't suppose working for the police, you get much time off, do you?"

Brenna smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, more than you might think. But I make it a point to never get emotionally involved with the persons on interest in a case."

"Oh, that's a shame. Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know."

"Oh, I'll remember, don't worry."

Sebastian left, not noticing Sherlock's daggerish glare of acute disapproval that followed him. "Must you do that?" he hissed, once Sebastian was out of ear shot.

"Do what?" said Brenna, with perfect innocence.

"Make people like Sebastian think that you're free and single, when you're not, particularly when I'm standing in the same room with you?"

"Does it bother you?"

Sherlock paused for a moment, suddenly realizing that Brenna was trying to provoke him into an emotional display. He had to take a moment to rearrange his face into a neutral expression. "No, it doesn't bother me. You should just be more aware of yourself. It wouldn't be good for you to attract the wrong man."

"No, of course not." Said Brenna, with a smirk, "But don't worry, Sherlock. What would I do with a man like Sebastian anyway?"

"Getting his codes to the bank so that you could rob him blind."

"Well, I suppose that would be one use for him. Actually, that's the only good use that I can think of."

"Have you actually done something like that before?" said John.

"Oh, a few times. And don't worry; I didn't actually have to sleep with them to get it. It normally involves just shooting up a few drinks with the right amount of drugs and then asking the right questions. I could give you some tips if you want."

"Thank you, I think I'll pass." Said John.

"Anyway, getting back to the real task at hand." Said Sherlock, "It seems quite clear that we won't be getting much help from Sebastian or support for that matter."

"He didn't seem exactly sad for Eddie Van Coon." Said Brenna, "Not if he was more relieved with suicide than with murder."

"I though bankers were all supposed to be heartless bastards." John commented. "So, where do we go from here, then?"

Sherlock, as always, had the answer. "We go back to the cipher."

* * *

Please, read and review.

Next chapter: Brenna, John, and Sherlock start tracking the cipher's trail, trying to see if they can find out where it begins. It might take some contacts that both Sherlock and Brenna have on both sides of the street in order to get them there. And, of course, they may not be the only ones interested in the progress which their progress will take.


	7. Following the Cipher

Thanks for all the reviews. I love hearing what people think.

Following the Cipher:

The morning after these events did not bring any answers. Rather, it only seemed to bring more questions. The first thing that greeted Brenna when she woke up in the morning was a message from Alice, telling her to call her. "Alice what is it?"

"We've got another body in this case." said Alice.

"Another smuggler?"

"Yes, Brian Lukis, a freelance journalist who's been showing a lot of interest in China recently."

"That's a coincidence." Said Brenna.

"That's not even the best of it." said Alice, "Lukis was killed on the fourth floor of his apartment, the doors and windows were locked, and there were no sign of forced entry."

"Two murders exactly the same in the course of two days that does seem to be a bit more than coincidence. What about Dimmock? What does he say?"

"He wants to say it's a suicide, but the case on this lead seems to be stagnating."

"Which means Sherlock will be waiting to pounce the first chance he gets."

"Don't say it."

"Say what?"

"I told you so. Dimmock's just starting out. This is his first big case. He wants to do it well. You can't very well blame him for trying, can you?"

"All right, I promise not to be too gleeful."

"What have you found out on your end?"

"From what Sherlock, John and I could gather yesterday, Van Coon was being threatened. There was some sort of message at the bank where he worked that was intended for him."

"What do the markings look like?"

"I'd say Asian, though not Korean or Japanese. Beyond that, it really can't tell us much. We were hoping to find out more today. If there's been another murder, chances are Sherlock will be able to find a pattern where no one else could. We might be able to find out more today."

"Keep me posted, Brenna." Said Alice, "And be sure to tell Sherlock about this."

"If I know him, he's already found out about it."

About half an hour later, Brenna was walking to the door of Baker St. She saw John coming around the corner. "Good morning, John." She greeted.

"Morning, Brenna. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks." She looked closely at John. "You look like the cat that ate all the cream, John. What's made you so happy?"

"Oh, I got a job."

"Really, congratulations. What else?"

"Should there be anything else?"

"No one looks that cheerful over a job interview. There's something else, isn't there, or someone perhaps."

John laughed and shook his head. "You know, you can sometimes be as bad as Sherlock."

"Well, in one thing I might be better than him, namely restraint."

"And I'm grateful for that, believe me."

The two of them went up the stairs into the flat. Sherlock was sitting on the back of his favorite chair in front of the fireplace. The mirror above the mantelpiece was becoming the unofficial place to hang evidence, and there were already several pictures of the strange symbols scattered across its surface.

Sherlock didn't even turn to acknowledge them when they came in. His first words to John were, "I said could you pass me a pen."

John looked at Sherlock, then around the flat. "What? When?"

"About an hour ago."

John rolled his eyes as he picked up a pen from the table and threw it to Sherlock without really bothering to check his aim, and Sherlock caught it without looking. "Didn't notice I'd gone out then?"

"Don't worry, John." said Brenna, "It happens to me all the time. I sometimes think that Sherlock never misses me when I leave."

"I don't." said Sherlock, bluntly, "Why should I miss you when I see you practically every day as it is? Do you expect to stay awake pining for you in the hours in-between?"

"No, but the least you could do is say hello when I walk into a room."

"Hello." Said Sherlock, still staring intently at the pictures.

"Very good. Next week we start working on eye contact.

Sherlock chose to ignore that. "What about you, John? I trust your morning business went well considering how pleased you looked when you came in?"

"I went to see a job at that surgery."

"And how did it go?"

"Great," said John, a bit dreamily, "She's great."

This caught Sherlock's attention. His eyes shifted slightly from the pictures to stare questioningly at John. "Who?"

"The job." Said John, who realized a bit too late he probably should have phrased that differently.

"She?"

"It."

Sherlock could see that there was a bit more to it than that. But he decided to let it go for the moment. He really didn't care about John's romantic aspirations. He jerked his head at his laptop, which was on the desk behind him.

"Take a look?"

Both John and Brenna shifted their positions to look at the website that was up on the screen. "The intruder who can walk through walls." Said John, reading the words of the story.

"Well, I suppose that eliminates my purpose for coming to see you." said Brenna, "Alice called me this morning and asked me to tell you about this. I wasn't wrong in suspecting that you would already know about it."

"Brian Lukis." Said Sherlock, "Found dead in his flat, doors and windows bolted from the inside."

"He also has connections in Asia." Said Brenna, "He was a journalist writing about southeast China."

"Another smuggler." Said John.

Alice certainly thinks so." Said Brenna, "This is becoming serious."

"God! You don't think…"

"He's killed another one." finished Sherlock, already half lost as his mind began to follow two or more threads at once to any conclusion.

The next course of action which they undertook was to go to Scotland Yard, to see what kind of help they could get out of Dimmock. The young Inspector wasn't happy to see them, nor that Brenna was in toe. "What might I ask are you doing here?" He asked, with clear disapproval.

"She's with me." Sherlock said, almost automatically, and with the slightest hint of an edge to his voice that was not all to do with impatience.

"If you don't mind, I would prefer to hear it from you." said Dimmock, "I recall that I asked you off this case."

"Yes, you did, and Bennett put me on another. It just happens to bear a striking resemblance to the one you happen to be working on."

"Bennett assigned you to him?" said Dimmock, gesturing towards Sherlock with some distaste (though Brenna did have to give him credit for not calling Sherlock a freak outright).

"Yes, she did. She thought I might be of assistance to him."

"But that's outside her jurisdiction."

"If you want to argue about it with her, go right ahead."

Dimmock had been backed into a corner, and he seemed to know it. Apparently, he didn't fancy the idea of trying to get up against Alice Bennett, for in the brief exposure he had had of her, he had no doubt figured out that the rumors were true. Trying to fight with her, especially over Brenna, he knew that he would lose.

Sherlock obviously sensed his defeat as well. "Now that we've wasted five minutes on the finer points of a subject that has absolutely nothing to do with this case, perhaps you might now want to hear something useful?" Without waiting for a response or permission, Sherlock grabbed Dimmock's computer and began typing in the address of the website where he had found the story of Lukis' murder. "Brian Lukis, journalist, murdered in his flat, doors locked from the inside."

Dimmock looked at the report on the screen, and it was clear that he wasn't exactly happy about the point which Sherlock was attempting to make.

"You've got to admit that it's similar." said John, "Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls?"

"Inspector, do you honestly think that Van Coon was just another City suicide?" Dimmock didn't answer, either because he didn't want to admit that he was at a dead end or because he didn't want to admit that Sherlock was right. Sherlock sighed rather impatiently. Why were people so dense?

"You checked with ballistics, I suppose?" Dimmock nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "And the shot that killed him wasn't fired from his own gun?"

"No." said Dimmock, though he gave the answer without a great deal of enthusiasm.

"No. so this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel."

Dimmock shifted rather uncomfortably at Sherlock's high-handed attitude. Brenna sensed that now might be a good time to step in. "I also that Bennett has filled you in on the logistics of the case with Van Coon?"

"Yes, she's give me the information about the suspected smuggling ring she was tracking with Van Coon."

"Well, it just so happens that Lukis was also suspected of being a link in this chain. There's a pattern emerging here, and whoever manages to catch this murderer could find himself on the way to bigger things. It says something good to superiors when a beginning Inspector manages to break a big case like this one."

Dimmock may not have been in police work for the glory, but he was still just a beginner in the field and Brenna knew that beginners were always looking to be noticed. There was no harm in just playing up on that impulse.

Sherlock plainly could see what Brenna was implying and that Dimmock was actually listening to her. Leaning on Dimmock's desk, he said, "I've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes in his flat."

Sherlock and Brenna apart could achiever quite a lot. Put them together and they were bound to get whatever they wanted through sheer force of their combined personalities. It was little wonder then, that Dimmock capitulated to what they asked and allowed them (even Brenna) to enter the crime scene.

When they arrived at Lukis' flat, the crime scene tape was already in place. As they climbed the steps to enter the flat's main floor, the first thing that Brenna noticed was the flat was very dirty. Books, clothes and other objects were strewn around the floor and tables, making it difficult to see anything of value. Except for the suitcase on the floor, which looked like it had been unpacked in a hurry, and Brenna suspected had contained more than clothes.

As Sherlock headed for one of the windows, Brenna knelt down by the suitcase. She checked the tags on the handle. "Just came back from Dalian a few days ago." she murmured. She stared hard at the imprint of the clothes, and saw that there was something which had been buried in the clothes. It looked like it had been a bulky object, one that took up a great deal of space. She had done such things before. Clearly this had been a smuggling operation. He had somehow managed to sneak it through customs, most likely through forged papers which stated he had come by the item legally.

She looked around at all the scattered books which were scattered nearby. Most of them, unsurprisingly, were of the South-East Asian political policies. But there also appeared to be quite a few books on the Ming period of Chinese History. That made Brenna wonder if that might not be a way to find a clue to whoever killed Van Coon and Eddie. Perhaps she would have to pull in one of her underworld contacts for that. And she knew just the person to ask.

She tucked that idea away for future reference when she heard Sherlock call her name. "Brenna, over here."

Brenna came over to where Sherlock was standing by the window, looking intently out at the street below. "Four floors up." Said Sherlock, "That's why they think they're safe, put the chain on the door, bolt it shut. They think they're impregnable." He glanced at Brenna, waiting for her to catch his drift, which she did almost instantly.

"They never think for a moment that there's another way in." said Brenna, the old thief in her already on the lookout for anyway into the flare that might have been missed by the police. Brenna had often broken into houses from unexpected places, and in unexcited ways. That was what separated a true thief from amateurs, those who made it their living, from those who thought it was just a quick way to make money. She had an uncanny knack for being able to find a way into and out of anywhere with subtle means. And those gifts, even if she still didn't use them anymore, they could still come in handy.

She looked around, specifically upward. Lukis' flat was on the top floor of the building, no balconies, the windows closed from the inside. The only way he could have come in was from above.

And she found it in no time. "Sherlock. She pointed to the skylight above the main entryway. "This one hasn't been locked."

Sherlock over to her and jumped up to get a better view of the skylight. "Yes, this is exactly it, Brenna. Very good."

"What are you two going on about?" asked Dimmock.

"We're dealing with a killer who can climb." Said Sherlock.

"What?!" asked Dimmock, who seemed more than a little confused by this point.

"He can cling to the walls like an insect. That's how he got it in."

"He must have climbed up the side of the building, ran across the roof, and dropped in through the skylight." Said Brenna.

"You're not serious?" Said Dimmock, sarcastically, "Like spider man?"

"Scaled a sixth floor balcony in Docklands to kill Van Coon." Sherlock continued, as his mind rapidly put into place another piece of the puzzle, "Of course, he got into the bank the same way, across the window ledge and onto the terrace."

"Hold on," said Dimmock, scathingly, "What you're describing, it's impossible."

"Of course, it's impossible." Sherlock scoffed, "Ask Brenna, she's done it dozens of times."

Dimmock and John looked at Brenna. "You have?" said John, who looked more intrigued than antagonistic.

"Have you?" Said Dimmock, obviously far more doubtful than John.

Brenna made a mental not to remind Sherlock not to put her crimes in the spotlight quite so often. "Sherlock is perhaps exaggerating a little. I may have done something like this on a few occasions, but certainly never to kill people. But I can tell you that the ability to climb seemingly impossible surfaces is an every day occurrence in the world where I come from."

"And why-"

"Why do you think it took four years to catch me?" Brenna asked, cutting Dimmock off, "The art of never being caught is to think creatively, and I was a master at that."

Leaving Dimmock to ponder that piece of advice, she went over to Sherlock, who was already starting to leave. "You want to hang around some more?"

"I have been everything I need." Said Sherlock.

"And you wouldn't want to overstay your welcome." Said Brenna.

"We have to find out what connects these two men." Said Sherlock, "We already have one link with your smuggler case, but that still doesn't tell us why they would be killed." Just then, Sherlock's keen eyes spotted something on the floor amidst the jumble of books littered the floor. he pulled out a book that was marked with the words. "West Kensington Library." he looked quickly at the date stamped inside, and Brenna, immediately knew what they would be heading next.

Not much later, they were roaming through the book shelves of the West Kensington Library. "Lukis was working here." Sherlock explained, "The date stamped on the book is the same day he died."

"So, this presumably was the last place he was before he died." Said Brenna, "He must have seen something here that sent him into a panic."

John had been removing books from one of the nearby shelves. He suddenly stopped when he saw something chillingly familiar written on the shelf behind the books. "Sherlock, Brenna."

The two turned, saw the marks which had alerted John and proceeded to take more books off the shelf. A few seconds later, the same message that had been at the bank was there, scrawled in bright yellow graffiti. The message was a mystery to them, but it had been understood as a dire warning to two men, and now they were dead. Whatever this message meant, it was clear that it could only be something serious, and deadly if ignored.

* * *

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Next chapter: At a dead end on their own, the threesome decide to go the unconventional route. It turns out that Brenna's contacts from the other side of the tracks are still active and alive. We also find out a little bit about Brenna's past, where she came from, and why she is who and where she is today.


	8. Contacts

So, in this chapter, we get a little bit of an idea of just how good at deception Brenna really is, plus a little bit of how she became the person that she is. Enjoy!

Contacts:

The case was becoming more complicated at every turning. Already two people were dead, and who knew if perhaps there might not be more. The only clue that they had to go on was the cipher, which was still proving to be maddeningly silent. They were no closer to cracking it. Back at 221B, more pictures had been stuck to the mirror, this time of the graffiti from the library.

All three of them were now looking intently at the pictures, trying to find some sort of pattern. "So, the killer gets to the bank, leaves the threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics, goes back to his flat and leaves himself inside. Just hours later, he dies."

"The killer finds Lukis at the library," Brenna continued where Sherlock left off, "He writes the cipher on the books where the guy will see it. Lukis goes him."

"And that night, he dies to." Sherlock finished.

"Why did they die, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Only the cipher can tell us." Said Sherlock.

"And unless we can find out what the cipher is saying," said Brenna, "We won't be getting anywhere." She stared at the images for a few seconds before she began to notice something. "Perhaps we need to go at this from a different angle."

"What do you mean?" asked John.

"The paint for the cipher, it's a special kind, it has to be. It has to be able to stick to certain surfaces, for a long time. The sheen on the paint hasn't dulled in either of these pictures. It was meant to stand out. The color attests to that, as well. The paint is the same in both cases, if we could find out what sort of paint was used for this graffiti, it might give us a clue as to who left the messages."

"You can't just tell a graffiti artist by his spray paint." said John. When both Sherlock and Brenna looked at him with their knowing expression, he realized that he had maybe said the wrong thing. "You know, I'm going to say anything else. I'll just let you two experts take care of it."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said all day." Said Sherlock.

Brenna had pulled out her phone and was in the process of texting someone. "Sherlock, John doesn't know anything about the criminal underworld, go easy on him. There's no reason why he should. Only he's with you and me now, so I suppose that he's about to get a taste of it."

"What do you mean? Who are you texting?"

"Raz."

"Raz? Who on earth is Raz?"

"Contact." Said Sherlock, "This is where knowing people of the other side of the law helps. Brenna knows all the right people."

Her text apparently sent, Brenna looked at John. "Raz is a specialist, I suppose you could say. Don't worry, he's not dangerous. He's really more of a teen who enjoys expressing himself in unusual ways. And some of those ways border on breaking the law, but he does it artistically. You can imagine why he's caught my attention."

"Well, judging from that response, I feel much better, thank you." said John, who wasn't exactly sure that he was looking forward to this little voyage into Brenna's underworld contacts.

She seemed to receive a text from this Raz almost immediately. "He's texted me the address." She grabbed her coat and was already heading for the door, when she said over her shoulder. "You two coming? I certainly hope that you're up for a little trip to Trafalgar Square."

"She's almost as bad as you are." Said John.

"No, John. She's almost as good as I am." Said Sherlock, with a rare admiring word for someone besides himself.

* * *

It was a short cab ride to Trafalgar Square. Brenna wouldn't tell them where they were going exactly, saying that Raz preferred to keep under the radar.

"Why exactly are we going to see this Raz?" asked John, "And what sort of a name is Raz anyway?"

"Raz isn't his real name." said Brenna, "It's a street name. Something that goes on all his exhibitions. It's how he makes a name for himself."

"But what does it mean?"

"It comes from the Aramaic name Razi. It means 'my secret.' Quite a creative title for a graffiti artist."

"Graffiti?" said John, skeptically. "We're going to go talk to a juvenile delinquent?"

"Raz isn't a juvenile delinquent." Said Brenna, "You might be surprised how many graffiti artists are merely trying to express themselves. There's an entire underground movement of teens like them. It's how I got my start, actually."

"Really?" said John, "I'm not sure if that's fascinating or disturbing. That still doesn't explain why we're going to see him."

"We're dealing with graffiti, John. It only makes sense we go to a graffiti artist." said Sherlock, pointed out, "That graffiti was distinctive, and since it was trying to send a message to Lukis and Van Coon, there must be more of it somewhere?"

"What do you mean?"

"Only that there has to be a more complete message to go with the threat. Otherwise, there would be no long term benefit in killing them. They must have wanted something from those two men, something that others could perhaps find for them."

They had arrived at Trafalgar Square by this point, and the three of them got out of the can and crossed the Square. "The world runs on codes and ciphers, John." said Sherlock, "From the pin machine you took exception to, to the million pound security system at the bank. Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

"Yes, ok. But…"

"But, it's all computer generated. Electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods."

"They're becoming more complex all the time, these security methods." Said Brenna, "It used to be all you had to do was pick a lock and open a safe. Now, there are fingerprint scans, multiple codes for different doors. Trip any one of them and the whole operation is blown." She noticed that John was looking at her oddly. "I'll tell you about it sometime. I've had more than a few close calls in my day."

"But, this code is different." said Sherlock. "It's an ancient device. Modern code breaking methods won't be able to unravel it."

"It's actually quite ingenious, returning to old-school methods such as this. Everyone is so well-versed in technology that there are few who might know where to look for the solution to this puzzle."

"Is that why we're going to see this Raz guy?" john asked.

"Yes, I need to ask some advice." Sherlock looked rather pained at having to admit such a thing."

And it brought no small amount of pleasure to John in hearing it. A big grin appeared on his face and he said, "Sorry, what?"

"Sherlock needs some advice."

"Brenna, I don't need you repeating everything I say. John heard me perfectly; I'm not saying it again."

"No harm in admitting that you don't know everything, Sherlock." Said Brenna, with a smile, "Your artistic knowledge, I may say, is not all that great. And it we're going to be asking anyone about painting, it might as well be with an expert."

Brenna led them towards the National Portrait Gallery, only to take a sharp turn down a side alley. It was there that they found Raz. He was a typical London youth who preferred against society in their own means. He was dressed in jeans, shirt and hoodie, all of them splattered with \ different kinds of spray paint. There was a large bag of various spray paints at his feet. Judging by the extent of paint already on the walls, it looked like he had been busy. Brenna was the first that he greeted. "Brenna, been awhile since I saw you on this side of the tracks."

"We're in need of your specialty, Raz." Brenna looked at his current drawing, a policeman with the face of a pig. "I see that you're shading around the contours has improved."

"Really, you think so?" Said Raz, he sounded rather pleased with himself. "I took your advice, about not going to heavy with the darker colors right away. It actually worked."

"You might want to try using something with a lighter sheen when superimposing two stencil images on top of each other." said Brenna, she gestured to the pig nose on the police officer. "The two images don't really mesh just yet."

"Well, what do you think of the analogy? To subtle?"

"No, I think you just need to work at it. I don't think anyone has any trouble understanding what you're trying to say."

Both John and Sherlock had been standing by the side during this whole conversation. Neither of them really knew what was being said. John just seemed confused, while Sherlock was impatient to move on.

"This is just part of a new exhibition." Said Raz.

"Interesting." Said Sherlock, who really wasn't listening and just wanted to move on.

"I call it Urban Blood Lust Frenzy."

"Catchy." Said John, who really wasn't sure what else to say.

"I've got two minutes before a community support officer comes around that corner." Said Raz. "Do you think we could do this while I'm working?"

Sherlock handed his phone to Raz. Raz threw the spray can he had been holding to John, who caught it with a rather surprised expression. Raz looked through the pictures. "I recognize the paint, looks like Michigan, hard core propellant."

"This would mean that it would adhere to many surfaces without losing its visibility." Concluded Brenna, "I was right, someone is looking to get a specific point across to a particular group of people."

"What about the symbols, doo you recognize them?" Sherlock asked.

"Not even sure if it's a proper language."

"Two men were have been murdered, Raz." Said Sherlock, seriously, "This could be the key to finding out who did it."

"Are you going to help us or not?" Sherlock demanded.

Raz looked from Sherlock to Brenna. He may have been akin to a juvenile delinquent, but like so many of Brenna's contacts, he had a good enough soul. He respected Brenna a great deal, and not all because some of her past overlapped with his. He had come to respect Sherlock, as well. He felt he had to help them, regardless of what little he could do. "I'll ask around."

"Someone must know something." Said Sherlock.

Suddenly, the little meeting was interrupted by the appearance of two officers coming around the corner. Sherlock and Raz beat a hasty retreat, disappearing at a run before John could say anything. The two officers approached him, clearly not happy at the sight before them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" One of the demanded angrily, "This Gallery is listened as a public building."

"Oh no, that wasn't me who painted it. I was just…" John stammered, "Just holding this for…"

It was only at this point that he saw Brenna was the only one who was still standing there. He was surprised at this. Given her background, he thought that she would have been the first to run. However, she didn't seem at all nervous by the officers. In fact, she was looking at them with something akin to irritation.

"Excuse me, officer, what do you think your doing?"

The officer actually seemed taken aback by her cold manner. "I'm investigating a case of criminal damage, ma'am. I'm going to have to take you both in."

The officer looked in the kitbag that was on the ground at John's feet. "Looks like you both are getting a little enthusiastic," he said, indicating the multiple cans of spray paint inside, "You and your girlfriend would be hard-pressed to talk yourselves out of this."

"Believe me, she's not-" John started, but Brenna suddenly cut him off.

"Before you go dragging us off to jail, you should know that my partner and I were investigating a lead in a case. Thanks to your meddling, we might have lost it."

The two officers looked at her skeptically. "I'm sorry, are you with the police?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Detective Inspector Alice Bennett." John's mouth nearly dropped open in surprise when he heard this blatant lie, and even more when Brenna flashed a badge at the two officers, who instantly changed their attitudes.

"Sorry to interfere, Inspector," said one of them, "We just thought…"

"Yes, I'm perfectly aware of what you thought. But because you jumped to conclusions without checking the facts first, you startled two of my informants, and now the entire case might be shot to hell. Next time, I expect both of you to be acting more professionally." The two officers nodded. "Good. Now, carry on."

John looked on in shock as the two officers scurried away. He looked at Brenna, who appeared quite pleased with herself. Even he had to admit, it had been a stellar performance. Brenna had not batted an eye during her entire act, even adopting Alice's speech rhythms and the way that she held herself. "How did you-"

"Don't say anything, John, just turn around and walk very quickly in the opposite direction. We don't want them coming back asking questions."

John wasn't about to argue. The two hurried away from the graffiti, and back to Trafalgar Square. There, Brenna deemed that they were out of danger and stopped. It was only there that John saw that Brenna had a crazy grin on her face, and was laughing hysterically. "Oh my God, it's been a long time since I've done that."

"What, you mean you've done that before?"

"Of course, outsmarting guards and police officers is part of the territory of being a thief. I sometimes wonder if I'm losing my touch. It's good to know that I'm not."

"You said you were DI Bennett. You said that you were your boss."

"Oh yeah, I've done that before a few times. I always run a risk when I use that ploy. I have to gamble on the fact that they've never seen her."

John stared at Brenna's enthusiasm, and despite himself, he started laughing as well. "Where did you manage to get her badge?"

"Oh that. I might have lifted it from her once when she wasn't looking. It does come in handy every once and awhile."

"Sherlock did something similar when we were chasing down that cab driver." Said John.

"Of course, where do you think he got the idea?"

"Bennett won't be angry tat you for stealing her identity, will she?"

"I doubt it. As long as unconventional methods yield results, she's quite willing to put up with any sort of mischief." She saw that John was smiling at her. "What?"

"It's just that I'm beginning to think you and Sherlock are more alike than you even realize. You're quite a pair. I have to say, I'm glad you didn't run. They probably would have taken me in if not for your quick thinking."

"Just for criminal damage, John. I highly doubt they would have put you into prison for life. However, I'll give you one word of advice: if you're hanging out with Sherlock, you might want to learn to always run when he does. Either that, or become really good at lying. Fortunately, I'm rather good at both, which is why I chose to stay behind. I figured you would need my help."

"Does Sherlock always run out like that?" said John, who was feeling just a little annoyed at Sherlock for leaving him and dry.

"I'm afraid he does. Don't worry, it's not really anything personal. You'll notice that he ran out on me. I suspect he ran because he didn't want to waste any time talking. And more likely than not he would have done more harm than good."

"True enough, I suppose."

"Look, be angry with him for a few hours, and then forget the whole thing. There are worse things that could have happened."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to figure that out." He looked at Brenna, and wondered if now would be a good time to ask her something which he had been curious about for a long time. "Brenna, you said that you're wiling to put up with Sherlock because he trusts you. Does no one in your family trust you?"

Brenna stopped walking, and a troubled look flashed in her eyes. John who didn't want to offend her, said quickly, "You don't have to tell me, of course, I just-"

"No, no, I don't mind telling. It's just that the great majority of my family really doesn't approve of me, can't say that I blame them, I suppose. Having a well-renowned thief in the family isn't a great thing for prestige, especially considering that my father was a police officer."

"Really?"

"Yes, see, that's the reaction I get from everyone when I tell them that. It's strange, he and I were really close, but for some reason, that bond we had wasn't enough to keep me from embarking on a life of thievery. On the other hand, I also have him to thank in a way for bringing me to where I am now."

"What do you mean? What did he do?"

Brenna was quiet, and her face was sad. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "He died, John. He was killed in a car accident. When I heard the news, I had a revelation. I realized that I was missing out on so much, that I was tired of running. So, I came home. I thought it was a mistake at the time. Emotions were so strong that my mother and one of my sisters refused to speak to me. One of them told me to leave so that my father could be buried in peace. I left, because I just didn't want to fight with them. I thought that they were right when they said I wasn't part of the family anymore. I thought that I had made a huge mistake in coming back."

John had nothing to say to this. He had never imagined that Brenna's past could have been so dark. "I won't say that I'm sorry." He said, hesitantly, "I know that wouldn't make any difference."

Brenna managed a smile. "But you still feel some sympathy for me. I am glad of that. Most people wouldn't even feel that for me. And now, as I look back on it, I can see that it was really all for the best. I was found by Alice and surrendered to her custody. One thing led to another, and here I am."

"So, you're family, you don't have contact with any of them?"

"Only my older sister, Elizabeth. She's the only one who stood up for me at the funeral. I think she's the only one who forgave me without any hint of rancor."

"Well, if the rest of your family think that you're still the same person who you were all those years ago, they're wrong. You're here now, and trying to do the right thing. That's what they need to consider."

Brenna's smile grew wider. She even laughed. "I wish there were more people in the world like you, John, so unwilling to see what others say is there, and listening to themselves for their best judgment. I may not have said this before, but I'm glad that Sherlock has someone like you."

* * *

Hope that everyone enjoyed that. I should say one quick thing. In a few weeks, I will be starting school. I am going to be really, really busy so I cannot promise that my updates will be as regular as they have been. Please be patient, and have faith in knowing that I am by no means abandoning this story. I have already planned out the first season of Sherlock, so I won't be suffering from any sort of writer's block. I also have plans to continue this story into Season 2, right up until Reichenbach (WAHH! Sorry, I still get emotional). Anyway, please read and review.

Next chapter: We head back into the past, to Sherlock and Brenna's first case together. Sherlock goes out of his way to make things as difficult as possible for Brenna, however, he will soon realize that doing so is a big mistake. He has underestimated just how determined Brenna is, and she is going to teach Sherlock Holmes a little lesson.


	9. Flashback III: Clash of Wills

Thanks for everyone who continues to review and follow this story. It makes writing these stories all the more fun to create.

Flashback III-Clash of Wills

Sherlock wasn't exactly looking forward to working this case. The Morcar Emporium case had attracted him because there was seemingly no way that the thieves could have broken into the store, making off with what was supposed to be the most valuable and well-guarded of all their stock. However, it was cases of the impossible that attracted Sherlock, and now the fact that a good murder had been thrown into the mix should have made this the perfect case.

However, he was now saddled with an annoying and unnecessary assistant. And that's all he was determined that she would be, an assistant. No one was going to be a watchdog for him. It wasn't his fault that the police force was made up mostly inept and clueless idiots (Well, Lestrade was somewhat of an exception, though he was still hopelessly ordinary in his methods). He didn't want to entertain a tag along simply so they could feel better about themselves.

His mind was made up when he got to the crime scene at the hotel the next morning. As there was no a body involved with the jewel robbery, Lestrade and his team were there. He started off a normal day by deducing Anderson and his up and coming flirtation with Sally Donavon ("So, enjoyed a nice romantic dinner at that new Italian restaurant in Covent Garden. You should have used a better shampoo this morning. They have a very strong scent of garlic, and it clings to everything for at least two days.), and got right down to business, starting first in Lucy Parr's room.

It was there that Brenna joined him, and he greeted her immediately with, "You're late."

"What?" said Brenna.

"7:00, Inspector Bennett said, 7:00. You're six minutes and thirty-four seconds late. I would have expected you to be more prompt."

Brenna stared at him, trying to determine if he were actually serious. "Well, I'm sorry; I got here as quickly as I could. There can be a lot of traffic this early in the morning."

"It's hardly my fault that the traffic got a little worse than it normally did in this area of London.

"You should have thought to check ahead this morning. Next time, I expect you to do better."

With that, he turned promptly on his heel, leaving a stupefied and indignant Brenna behind. Things hardly improved the next hour. Sherlock was constantly calling Brenna over for some pointless task or to ask her opinion, only to completely contradict her in the rudest possible way he could. Then, he jumped over the balcony of Lucy's room down to the one below, which was supposed to have been rented by James Ryder, Lucy and Mary's thieving partner. He then hollered up at Brenna to join him and not to take to long.

Brenna did not jump off the balcony, which seemed to annoy Sherlock no end. When she entered the room, he had been examining the threshold that went into the room, when he asked her abruptly, "Would you pass me my phone."

Brenna, who had been starting her own exploration of the room for any sort of makeshift safe, turned around and looked at him. "You're phone?"

"Yes, I need to cross-check something on the internet and I can't do that without my phone. Now, if you would kindly stop wasting time and hand it to me."

It was clearly a command, and Brenna was close to exploding. "Where is it?"

"My coat, left pocket."

As Sherlock was actually wearing his coat, and it would have been the simplest thing for him to grab it himself, this was clearly the latest in a long lien of attempts to belittle her. She had finally had enough of it. Stomping over to him, she grabbed the phone out of Sherlock's coat, and shoved it into his hands. "Anything else I could do for you perhaps?" She asked, scathingly, "Maybe get you coffee, lick your shoe?"

Sherlock had been checking some of his findings on-line, and he now looked at her with some confusion. "Coffee, why I would want coffee now? And why would I want you to like you lick my shoe? If that some form of sexual invitation?"

That did it. Brenna finally lost patience. "Look, Mr. Holmes, I am trying very hard to make this work, but you have got to work with me."

"What do you mean?"

"You, you clearly don't need or want my help, and I can accept that, but instead of the two of us being in the same room and trying to have at least a show of teamwork, you have been interrupting me for the past hour while I attempt to do my job."

"What job? You've done nothing but open doors and drawers for the last hour, looking for what, I can't tell, and generally doing absolutely nothing that gives us more information."

"I've been looking for someone of the jewels that these people have stolen. If we can find them, it might give us a lead. And what have you been doing? You've been crawling around on the balconies for the past hour. I can't imagine what important things that ground has been telling you."

"The ground can tell you quite a lot if you know how to look, which you obviously don't. In fact, I'm rather questioning your ability to see anything." he handed his phone back to her. "Now, would you put it back?"

Brenna took the phone from Sherlock, but took the opportunity to grab him by the arm and pull him closer, until they were staring nose to nose, snapping green taking on ice blue. "I warn you, Mr. Holmes, do not get me angry. You do not want to see me angry."

"You will forgive Miss Ryan, if I am not in the least worried. Childish threats such as yours only show how much of an amateur you are."

He jerked his arm out of her grasp, and put his phone away. However, the very second he turned away from her, Brenna slipped two fingers into his pocket, and plucked the phone from it, putting it into her own. The move was swift and fluid, the action of an accomplished thief. It was so artlessly done that not even Sherlock noticed it. He was already on his way out the door of the hotel room, muttering about how he couldn't get any work done when he had to put up with such idiots.

Brenna wasn't particularly sorry to see him go. Perhaps now with peace and quiet, she could get some work done. However, that solitude didn't last long. About ten minutes later, Donavon came into the room, presumably so they could now search it, as Sherlock had unceremoniously banished them he arrived. He claimed that they got in his way.

Brenna really didn't pay much attention to them, still fuming as she was about Sherlock's behavior. However, she was surprised when she heard Donavon say, "I see the freaks ran off again, hasn't he?" The contempt in her voice was unmistakable, and it made Brenna turn to look at the woman questioningly.

She really had only encountered Donavon a few times during her short time at the Yard. Donavon seemed to treat her with the same suspicion that everyone did. She had also struck Brenna as having a rather judgmental and harsh personality. It seemed that attitude was especially virulent when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

"Freak? I assume you mean Sherlock."

"Yeah, can't say that I envy you having to work with him, but I also sympathize."

"Don't you think freak is a little extreme?"

"You've been with him for the past hour. That time wasn't enough to answer the question."

"I will admit that I found him rude, arrogant and completely out of touch with all appropriate politeness, but I didn't see anything that would make him out as some sort of freak of nature."

Donavon looked at Brenna, before she said. "Do you know why Sherlock Holmes is here, why he helps the police? It's not because he's paid. He enjoys it, he likes murder. The weirder the murder, the more he gets off on it. I've worked with Inspector Lestrade for the last six months, and Sherlock only comes in for the most gruesome murders. He's dangerous. I wouldn't be surprised if he were a psychopath. Take my advice, and when this case is over, stay as far away from that guy as you can."

Brenna wasn't quite sure how to take this. Donavon seemed quite serious, but at the same time, she was also detecting a certain amount of resentment in her judgment. She didn't know if that might be coloring it slightly. She decided it might be best to go with her own assessment of Sherlock: she didn't know if he was a psychopath, but she certainly didn't like him.

But, as it turned out, she had more immediate concerns. She was still searching James Ryder's rooms for any sort of jewels. She knew how thieves operated. She knew that there were many places to hide a cache in a hotel room, ways that were simple, but clever at the same time, and could be set up and taken down quickly. That could mean the difference between getting the job done right, and having it fail completely.

In the hotel room that had been rented out by Ryder, Brenna found it. The wardrobe was a large affair, built to hold the TV, several drawers and larger items of clothing. The whole thing was stained to make it appear larger than it really was. She began to examine it thoroughly, and she soon found what she was looking for. The third drawer from the bottom wouldn't open properly. There was something underneath it that was causing it to stick. Opening the drawer below it, and reaching up, she found the container that had been attached to the underside of the third drawer. It was metal, and just large enough to hold something the size of a small crown. "Found you." said Brenna, with a self satisfied smirk, when she saw what had been left inside.

Brenna had just bagged her evidence, when she felt her phone buzzing. She looked at the screen, and saw that she had received a text. It was a number that she didn't recognize, but she still read it. **You have my phone. SH**

Brenna raised her eyebrows at the curt tone of the text. **Sherlock Holmes, may I assume? BR**

**Well, of course, it is. Who else would it be? SH**

**How are you texting me if you don't have a phone? BR**

**Does that really matter? SH**

**No, I suppose it doesn't. I have your phone. Where are you? BR**

Sherlock said that he was at St. Bart's morgue, which was only a mile from the Yard, and well within Brenna's radius. She still thought it prudent to call Alice and tell her where she was going.

Brenna got to St. Bart's just in time to catch Sherlock coming out of it. In fact, she arrived just in time to witness the tail end of a conversation between Sherlock and a young woman with dark brown hair tied back in a pony tail, and soft brown eyes that held a degree of surprising innocence and compassion for someone who worked with the dead all day. Brenna stood in the doorway, apparently neither of them really noticed her in their conversation.

"Do you have that analysis that I asked you for, Molly?" Sherlock asked, without so much as looking at her.

"Yes, it's right here."

"No, not that one." said Sherlock, rather curtly, "Stop your day-dreaming, Molly, and do try to pay attention."

Brenna was rather shocked by Sherlock's rude attitude, and even more so when the woman, Molly, she assumed she was called, instead of telling him to shod off and get the analysis himself, merely looked down and retrieved the information that Sherlock had indicated. He didn't even bother to tell her thank you. Brenna wondered if he even knew those two words.

"Excuse me, am I interrupting something?" Brenna asked, once there was a break in the conversation.

Molly, the pathologist that Sherlock had been conversing with, suddenly looked up, obviously startled to see her standing there. "What? Oh no."

"Don't give yourself a heart attack, Molly." Said Sherlock, "She's been standing there for the past five minutes. Every observant person should have been able to get that."

Brenna bit back her comment. Instead, she stepped forward and said, with a kind smile. "My name is Brenna. What's yours?"

"Her name is Molly Hopper. If you had been listening, you obviously should have picked up on that fact. Are you really so dense?"

"I did not ask you for her name, Sherlock." Said Brenna, "I might have heard her name, but I wanted to hear her say it. That's what people do to be polite to each other."

Sherlock scoffed. "Politeness is a completely useless venture. It's a waste of time and effort for something that no one remembers and makes no difference in the long run."

Brenna ignored him, and turned back to Molly. "What was your name again?"

"Oh, uh, Molly. It Molly, like Sherlock said. You must be the one who is helping Sherlock with this case."

"Well, it depends on what you mean by helping." Said Brenna, casting a significant glance at Sherlock, who didn't seem to notice her at all.

"You did have my phone, yes?" said Sherlock, as he was putting on his coat and scarf.

"Yes, here." Brenna held the phone out to Sherlock, but was astonished when he strode past, grabbing the phone from her hand, and headed for the door. "Wait, don't you want to know what I found on the crime scene?"

"No, I have everything that I need at the moment, thank you. I won't need anything more from you until tomorrow. Come to the address when I text you. Good bye." Without even waiting for a reply, Sherlock walked right past her and out of the room.

Brenna stared after him, utterly stunned and quickly mounting in anger. She had to restrain herself from running after Sherlock and strangling the life out of him. Instead, she had to settle for frustrated growl, and she said, making no attempt to hide her disgust. "The nerve of that man? Who does he think he is? Does he expect all of his lesser mortals to simply fall over in wonderment at his words? I'm beginning to think that Sergeant Donavon was right. Sherlock Holmes is a freak."

"You shouldn't say that." Molly said, speaking in a small voice.

Brenna looked at her in acute disbelief. "How can you be defending him? He just insulted you."

"He does that to everyone." Said Molly, "It's not just me. I know it's not right, of course. But you just have to accept that about Sherlock. It's who he is. He can't help it. And he's not a freak. He's a brilliant man, who notices more things than most people would be able to pick up in a lifetime. Doesn't that entitle him to be a little proud?"

The entire speech was delivered in a rush, and by the time she was finished, Molly was a little out of breath. She seemed a little embarrassed at speaking so boldly. However, Brenna could also see that she meant every word, and it wasn't all out of her blind crush. Brenna sighed and tried to calm down. After all, it wasn't this poor girl's fault that Sherlock was rude to everyone. "Look, you might be right. I don't deny that he's brilliant, and maybe freak is a strong word. But I still think Sherlock could stand to be a bit more cooperative. I mean, we are supposed to be working on this case together."

"Well, he did find out something." Said Molly, "The footprint he found on the balcony, he found some scrapings that he thinks might give him some identity of the killer. He's going back to his flat now to test it out."

Brenna managed a smile and said, "Thank you, Molly. I certainly hope that he'll come to his senses and tell me something."

However, she seriously doubted that. She had seen enough of Sherlock's behavior that day to know that he was going to be as difficult as he could with her. But than again, two could play at that game. She could be just as stubborn as Sherlock, and she intended to teach him a lesson. She certainly hoped that he liked the little present that she had left him on his phone. She had intended to be a joke, but now, she knew that she had engineered the perfect way to not only get back at him for the slights she had suffered that day, but also to get him to walk a bit more in step with her.

* * *

For the next day, Brenna waited and bided her time. She made sure to text Sherlock plenty of times, dropping vague hints about his not being able to get anywhere until he asked for her help. However, after a day of the case going nowhere, both Lestrade and Alice were not at all happy with Brenna's stalling techniques. When the two of them came to confront her about it, Brenna's response was rather surprising.

"Don't worry, you two." Said Brenna, with an airy confidence that neither Lestrade nor Alice could really understand was coming from. "Sherlock Holmes will be here very soon, and he will be more than willing to cooperate."

"You'll forgive me, Brenna, if I find that a little difficult to believe." said Alice.

"Yes, you've been texting him for hours, and he hasn't even responded, let alone shown up." Said Lestrade, trying to hide his frustration, "Just what progress are you hoping to make under the circumstances."

Brenna was about to respond when she saw something behind the two Inspectors. She smiled hugely and said, "Oh, look, here he comes."

Both Lestrade and Alice turned around, and were stunned to see Sherlock entering the White Collar unit, looking more than a little irritated and angry. Both of them gaped at Sherlock's totally unexpected appearance, and then turned to look at Brenna, who still wore that same enigmatic smile, but she still revealed nothing of how she had managed to get Sherlock to even come into the Yard.

As it was, Sherlock didn't even acknowledge Lestrade or Alice. In fact, he breezed past them, his eyes focusing in on Brenna, who continued sitting and looking at the reports in front of her, totally unconcerned. "You." he said, accusingly, "You did this." He threw his phone across the desk and it landed in front of Brenna.

Brenna looked up, studied the phone and then gazed up at Sherlock. "Whatever can you mean, Mr. Holmes?" she said, with perfect innocence. "I can't even think of anything I have done that would possibly be of offense to you."

"Oh, don't play with me like that. You know exactly what I mean. What on earth is that song which you have locked into my phone? Every time I get a text it plays all the way through and I can't get it to stop."

"Didn't you like it?"

Sherlock was so angry that he had difficulty answering. "I cannot believe that you asked that. Have you heard that song?"

"If I hadn't heard it, I wouldn't have chosen it. Strange I thought that that you would have loved it."

"Loved it? With that irritating chorus of idiotic children repeating the same words over and over again, expressing a wish that is totally unrealistic and nauseatingly naïve."

"A song that is also annoying, repetitive, and joys in telling you what you already know?" Brenna challenged, "Of course, I cannot see how you honestly thought that it had nothing to do with you."

"Wait, wait a minute, what's going on?" said Alice.

"Miss Ryan here rigged my phone." said Sherlock, "Every time I get a text or a call, this song plays non-stop and I can't turn it off."

"You can't?" asked Lestrade.

"No, I can't. She put a code on it and I can't guess it."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock in disbelief. "You couldn't guess the code? You always get the code."

"Well, I couldn't this time." said Sherlock, with obvious reluctance that there was one secret he couldn't guess. "I thought that it would be simple. She doesn't seem to be the most creative of people at first glance."

"And yet you are the one who is here begging for my help." Brenna pointed out.

"I am not begging." Sherlock protested.

"Fine, whatever you like to think. But the phone stays the way it is until I get what I want."

"What is that?"

"I'll lay it all out for you, plain and simple. I don't like being taken for granted, and I don't like being treated as someone's personal servant. I am not going to follow you around to fawn all over your feet. Either you accept me as an equal in this case, or I will not be helping you." Sherlock was silent, glaring at Brenna with acute distaste. However, Brenna also detected a slight slackening of his iron will. He was slowly beginning to realize that he was being backed into a corner. "Have you come to any sort of conclusions based on your own findings?" She asked, pointedly.

"No, nothing conclusive." Said Sherlock, through gritted teeth, as though the words were being dragged out of him.

"I thought not. You know, it might help this case go much faster if we could combine our talents. My findings have not proved conclusive, either. And logically, the faster that we solve this case, the faster we will be able to go our separate ways. Believe me, I will be as happy to leave you as you will be to leave me."

Many long moments of silence followed this, as the two of them stared each other down, testing each other as to how far they would go. At last, Sherlock admitted defeat. He nodded, "Very well, we work together, only as long as this case. Will you put my phone back to the way it was now?"

"Thank you for saying please." Brenna said, as she took up the phone, "I should warn you, back out again, and the songs will return. And this time, they will be worse."

"I can't possibly think of anything worse than the one you chose."

"Oh, there are more, believe me." Brenna handed Sherlock back his phone. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, we could step into the conference room and start putting together the pieces, shall we?"

Sherlock, glowering with helpless fury, swept past her and into the conference room. Brenna was following him, when Lestrade stopped her. Both he and Alice were stunned. Sherlock Holmes had actually yielded ground, he had surrendered. Lestrade had never seen him do that, and Alice was fairly certain that he wouldn't be giving her anything more than she had managed to wring out of him. Now, Brenna had managed to get him to cooperate without so much as breaking a sweat. They both were dying to know why.

"Brenna, just what did you rig his phone to play?"

"Oh, I just rigged it to play _It's a Small World_ over and over until he came in. I figured someone like Sherlock who has a hatred of all inane things would be tortured most by that song."

"Brenna, that's… that's just cruel." Said Lestrade, though there could be no denying the admiration in his tone.

Brenna grinned back at him. "Cruel, I like that, though I also like ruthless."

Brenna went into the conference room, leaving Alice and Lestrade to look after her. Lestrade looked at Alice, who was beaming with pride. "And you questioned my sanity when I wanted to bring her on?" she said.

* * *

I couldn't help it. I just got back from Walt Disney World a few months ago, and while I was riding It's A Small World, I found myself wondering, what would Sherlock Holmes think of this song? Well, I think that it would be a foregone conclusion, wouldn't it? Anyway, please read and review.

Next chapter: Brenna and Sherlock finally declare a truce and compare notes on what their respective skills have yielded. When a suspect begins to take form, they slowly begin to work together as a true team.


	10. Flashback IV: Working Together

Here is the next chapter of A Thief's Life. Thanks to everyone who has so far reviewed and favorited this story.

Flashback IV: Working Together

Brenna and Sherlock had finally come to something resembling a truce, however temporary it was. That being the case, they now needed to compare what they had found in their own separate searches, and try to come up with a common direction that they both could agree on. That, in and of itself, took them awhile, mostly because they ended up arguing on more than a few of the finer points of the case. It eventually got to the point that Lestrade and Alice simply gave up, and let them bash it out together on their own.

However, despite the arguing and the differing opinions, they both were able to finally to hash out a suspect. It turned out that there had been a method to the madness of both their techniques in the hotel room. Sherlock had been scanning minutely the surface of the balconies and carpets, looking for the remainders of footprints. Footprints could tell a lot about a person, and Sherlock had managed to find out just from the footprints, that there had been two people in the room of James Ryder. One of them had been overly tall, with large feet, apparently he was also a little bow legged. The other had been slightly shorter, but his shoe size had been almost identical. The tall one had landed from the balcony above Ryder, which could only mean that he had been Lucy Parr's killer. There had been some sort of scuffle, and then they had both fled, apparently when they had heard the police approaching.

Brenna, despite herself, was impressed, though she wasn't sure that she was ready to admit to it. She, herself, had evidence which supported Sherlock's theory, and moreover, she knew what had been fought about. The metal box which she had found in the dresser of the hotel room had contained the beryl coronet. She had found three of the beryls in the make shift safe. As the beryls were fastened to the coronet rather securely, it meant that a great deal of force was needed to be exerted to loosen even one. There must been some sort of tug of war with the coronet, a war in which both sides had been equally determined that they would prevail. She had also managed to pull a print off one of the jewels, and though no finger prints had been left behind at the crime scene, there had been plenty at the hotel, and they had managed to match it to James Ryder.

It seemed that they had a probably suspect in the person of James Ryder, though why he would want to kill a member of his own thieving ring was a greater mystery. Brenna could not recall anything resembling resentment in Lucy's voice when she had spoken with her, but then again, James also hadn't been at the party. Maybe there had been as little honor amongst thieves in the threesome as there was sometimes thought to be.

At any rate, they needed to find James and question him. The problem was he had disappeared. He would obviously not return to the hotel while it was still crawling with police. However, Sherlock had said that he had resources who could locate him. Brenna didn't know what type of resources those might be, but she didn't inquire. She had sources that she probably wouldn't want to mention either if she were him. She had a resource herself that she could tap into, and his name was George Burnwell. Surely the Fence of the Underground would be keeping abreast of the latest details of a murder case that involved one of his sellers, if only to make sure nothing was traced back to him, thereby ruining whatever profit he hoped to make from the sales of the valuable jewels.

They had a plan, and when Brenna and Sherlock parted from each other on that day, they felt a bit more at ease in the presence of the other. There was certainly no melting of the ice, but there was perhaps, a bit more an idea that they would not be working with idiots.

* * *

Brenna was still going without her anklet. Alice had told her that for the duration of the time that she was on this case, she would have to wear the bracelet to keep track of her movements. There was simply too much at stake to risk someone recognizing her as an ex-thief. She really didn't mind. The bracelet was more attractive than the anklet anyway.

She would go to see George Burnwell the next day, having set up an appointment to speak with him on a personal matter. He was staying at the Savoy, of all places, but then, she knew the lure of luxury all to well. It went with the territory. Leaving Alice and the others to listen in the van, she went to his room, and when his valet (or bodyguard, Brenna wasn't sure which) showed her into the living room, he was already sitting down to tea. He smiled up at him, a sight which seemed to add to his charm and good looks. "Miss King, it is a pleasure to see you here. It's most unexpected that I receive a visit from a seller before the actual event."

"I like to keep my contacts open." Said Brenna, as she returned the smile, and sat down. "The truth, however, is that I am here on much more serious issue."

George leaned back, and his smile was replaced with a serious expression. "You are referring to the unfortunate death of Miss Lucy Parr. Shame, I spoke with her at the party. Bright girl, she would have gone places if she had been given the chance."

"Perhaps so, I certainly thought so. The police, of course, don't know that she was a thief. However, they seem to be treating it as a murder."

"How did you know that?" George asked, "The story hasn't been aired in detail on the news yet."

Brenna didn't even falter. "When you have been on the circuit for as long as I have, Mr. Burnwell, you learn to pick up a few contacts. All officers will talk, if the price is right."

Part of being a good liar was weaving a little bit of hard truth into the lie. Brenna, of course, did have contacts in the department, she had merely fudged a little of the details on the nature of those contacts. And George seemed to take her answer directly at face value. "Ah, I see. Quite ingenious of you. I am impressed. Well, I have some contacts as well. It's true, Lucy was murdered. I'm afraid that there have been no leads."

"Well, I am not interested in leads. What I am interested in is my investment. I have been selling at this auction for the past three years, Mr. Burnwell. I would hate to think that you security would be so lax as to allow the authorities to be able to trace anything back to it and shut it down. If the police found out what Lucy was involved in, you have to admit that is a possibility. Please, do not be offended, I hope."

"Not at all. A person wants to inspect a bank before he puts his money there, it's only common sense. However, let me settle your fears on that score. My security is top notch, and there is no way that the authorities will ever find out Miss Parr's true identity, or what she was involved in. I take such matters very seriously."

"I am pleased to hear that, Mr. Burnwell." She seemed to let the matter drop, and the two chatted for the next fifteen minutes about trivial matters. Just as the tea was wrapping up, Brenna subtly brought the matter back into question. "It is such a shame really. I was counting on their help for this heist I had planned in Amsterdam, now I am afraid I might have to put it on hold."

"Why not try and see if the other two would be interested. I'm sure that I could get in touch with Mary. James Ryder, unfortunately, seems to have disappeared."

"Really? Why?"

George Burnwell seemed to consider for a moment, before he leaned forward and said, in a low voice, "I do not mean to cast aspersions, but I have my suspicions about the identity of Miss Parr's killer. You see, I think it might have the result of a domestic nature."

"Domestic? What do you mean?"

"Well, Mr. Ryder and Miss Parr were in a relationship. Quite mad about each other according to Mary. Perhaps James thought that he saw her with another man, I can't be sure. Perhaps the strain was too much. It would certainly account for the fact that Mr. Ryder was absent for the party and now seems to have vanished."

Brenna pretended to be utterly appalled. "Do you think that James Ryder could have killed her?"

George sat back and shrugged. "I do not know. I cannot prove my theories. I have no authority in solving mysteries of that kind. Those are merely my private thoughts, so I hope you won't repeat them to anyone."

"Of course not." Said Brenna, fervently. She rose to her feet, the interview over, and she herself not wanting to overstay her welcome. "Well, you have been most helpful, Mr. Burnwell. Thank you for putting my fears to rest."

George also got to his feet, and smiled once more. "I am glad that I was able to do so, always happy to be of service."

Brenna walked out of the Savoy feeling rather pleased with herself. Getting into the back of the van, she was met by Alice's frowning face. "What? I thought that I did pretty well."

"Police officers will talk if the price is right?" Alice questioned, with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you had a better opinion of us than that."

"Well, you did get me out of jail, and you had to pay the price of putting up with me, so yes, I do think it's true, up to a point."

Alice regarded her for a moment, before a smirk appeared on her face. "Either way, you got yourself out of that one. I thought for a moment we were going to have to get in there and extract you."

"So, it looks like we have our suspect." Said Patrick, "We should probably start looking for James Ryder."

Brenna had her arms crossed over her chest, and looked thoughtful. "You really think he could have done it?"

"Come on, according to your buddy Burnwell, it appears that Ryder has got motive." Patrick looked at Brenna. "You don't think he did it?"

"I don't think he didn't do it, but I don't know if I would say it was definite. There was something about Burnwell's manner when he was speaking that makes me wonder."

Before anything else could be said, Brenna's phone buzzed. She looked at the message, and raised her eyebrows. "It looks like I'm being summoned."

"Sherlock, is it?" said Alice, as she moved in to look at the message.

"Yes, and he wants me to meet him at his flat. Says that he has a lead on James Ryder. That's outside my two mile radius."

Alice seemed to consider for a moment, before she finally sighed, and said. "Well, you had best get a move on then, hadn't you?"

Brenna looked at her, surprised. "You're letting me go outside my radius?"

"Just see to it that you go straight there, and stay with Sherlock, regardless of how much he might get on your nerves."

Do I have a curfew as well? You want me to call when I get home?"

"If you wouldn't mind, and be back before dark."

Brenna rolled her eyes and said, "Yes, mom. I'll call when I have something."

* * *

Brenna had not known what to expect when she went to Sherlock's flat. However, her first impressions were somewhat jarred when she heard music coming from the living room. It was violin music, expertly played. Brenna knew music almost as well as she knew art, she could tell when a piece was being played by someone who was simply going through the motions, and when the performance was being taken on heart and soul. She was surprised that she heard the latter in Sherlock's playing, and when she entered the living room, she saw that his back was turned towards her. He didn't even acknowledge her presence when she came into the room, he was so absorbed in his playing.

Brenna paused to listen for a few seconds. She didn't recognize the tune, and she saw the music on the stand was written out, not printed. She wondered if Sherlock was composing. And it sounded quite lovely. Odd, she had not thought that music would be the last thing on Sherlock's mind, perhaps considering it to be beneath his notice.

As she moved her gaze around the rest of the flat, what she had seen of Sherlock's basic character started to come through. His flat resembled the aftermath of a minor hurricane, with clothes, books, and about two thousand scraps of paper scattered everywhere. Brenna was naturally one to snoop. She knew very well that a person's possessions could tell a great deal about them. She started looking a little closer around the flat.

It was in the kitchen that she found the most intenerating, and perhaps oddest thing about Sherlock Holmes she had seen yet. Sherlock seemed to be something of an amateur chemist. There were more chemicals and tools in Sherlock's cupboards then there was actual food. She glanced in the toaster and blanched when she recognized that there were toes in the contraption as opposed to slices of bread. There was a microscope on the table, and beside that were two human kidneys in separate jars, in different stages of decay. Brenna had no idea how she was supposed to react to this. This was a trip into bizarreness beyond her wildest dreams.

She was absorbed in staring at the kidneys, that she didn't even notice that the violin music had stopped and she didn't know that Sherlock was behind her until she heard him abruptly bark. "Don't touch those."

Brenna jumped and turned around. "What?"

"Don't touch them. If you disturb the specimens now, the outcome of the experiment could go completely wrong."

Brenna stared at him with an open mouth for a few seconds. "Experiments? These human leftovers are experiments?"

"Yes, of course." Said Sherlock, as he brushed past her, and bent down to make sure that the kidneys were still decaying as they were supposed to. He was fully expecting her to accuse him of being some sort of freak, or worse. He didn't care about that. It was the normal reaction of ignorant people who didn't understand what needed to be doesn't in pursuit of science.

However, he surprised when he looked back at Brenna, and found that instead of staring at him with disgust, she just seemed confused. "Why?'

She didn't seem to be asking because of some false idea of superiority, she seemed to be geminately curious. "What do you mean?"

"Well, why are you doing experiments like this when there's very little chance anyone will ever know or care about the results?"

It was a valid enough question, so Sherlock decided to humor her. "How else do you expect for me to keep myself occupied during the time when I don't have a case? A superior mind like mine can't just spend its spare time simply staring at the television."

Brenna actually seemed to be seriously considering this answer, before she nodded slowly and said, "Oh, I guess that makes sense. I draw myself, and though I'm sure you don't think it's in the same category of accomplishment, most of what I create will never be seen by anyone but myself. I suppose this is your version of a hobby."

Sherlock was even more surprised. Did she actually understand? That was certainly never a reaction he had gotten before. He had never really heard his experiments described in that way before, and he didn't really know how to respond. "You don't think it's strange?"

"Well, I suppose it is a little unusual, but to be quite honest, I really wouldn't have expected anything else from someone like you. Besides, I have known far stranger people than you, so I suppose I really can't mind it."

Out of all the things she had said so far, this baffled Sherlock most of all. He didn't know how she could have met other people that were stranger than him.

"You said that you had a lead on James Ryder?" Brenna asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, yes, right." he said, getting his mind back on track. "I think I know someone who has seen him. Come on, it's Wednesday. Matthew will be at Waterloo Station today. If we hurry, we should be able to find him without any trouble."

Before Brenna could ask who Matthew even was, Sherlock had already grabbed his coat and was halfway out the door. She took one last look around the flat of Sherlock Holmes before she followed him.

It was all to brief encounter, but it left them both wondering, ever so slightly, if there was more to the other than they had at first thought. Perhaps, they had found a common ground.

* * *

Please, read and review.

Next chapter: Sherlock and Brenna begin to find out that there is more to the other than meets the eye. Brenna finds that Sherlock has connections amongst the homeless people of London, and that his attitude towards them is not what she expected. And Sherlock has tro admit that Brenna herself has some unusual skills he wouldn't have expected to find in someone like her.


	11. FLashback V: Truce

A double header for thelast section of this particular flashback sequence. Enjoy!

Flashback V: Truce

Brenna still didn't really know why they were going to Waterloo Station. Sherlock was tight-lipped in the cab, and she got a feeling that it wasn't all because of her. When they got to the station, instead of going inside, Sherlock headed down a side street, towards a young man who was sitting down, his back resting against the side of the station. He had several beat-up duffle bags scattered around his feet, stuffed with clothes, bed sheets, and food, all the bare essentials of living. His sandy blond hair was dirty, as was his skin. His clothes were in little better shape. Brenna instantly knew that he must be homeless. Again, she had no idea what Sherlock was hoping to gain by talking to a homeless person, but she didn't really think it would be worth her time to ask.

"Matthew." Said Sherlock, as they came up to him, and the man stood up, "I heard that you had some information for me."

Matthew, which was apparently the young man's name, shifted his gaze from Sherlock to Brenna, looking a little uneasy. "Why is she?"

"She's a…" Sherlock paused for a moment, before saying a little uncertainty, "colleague."

"That's the most polite thing you've called me since our first meeting." Muttered Brenna.

Sherlock shot her a glare. Matthew merely looked confused. "A colleague? Really? Since when do you have a colleague?"

"It's only a temporary arrangement, Matthew. She's trustworthy, I can say that much. Now, could we please move on? I don't want to waste any time."

Matthew looked once more at Brenna a bit doubtfully, but finally simply decided to ignore her, and get down to business. "I've seen the man you described." He handed Sherlock a piece of paper with an address written on it. "An old abandoned house, looked like. I saw him the other night, went in and out real fast. He certainly acted like he didn't want to be seen. I checked with some of the others around the area. They said that the three of them have been coming and going from that house for at least the past three weeks. If there is any evidence that you need to find about them, that would be the best place to look."

Sherlock seemed to consider this situation, but when he spoke again, his voice had grown suddenly harder, and that piercing gaze in his sharp blue eyes flashed with a brief moment of disapproval. "How do I know that I can trust this information seeing as how you've been using again?"

Both Matthew and Brenna looked at him in shock. "What do you mean he's been using?" Brenna asked.

"Sherlock, I haven't been-"

"Don't try and lie to me, Matthew, you know it doesn't work. I can see the way that your fingers are twitching, the way you're talking and holding yourself, you've just used recently. Was it the morphine or the heroine this time?"

"Wait, are you saying that your informant is not only homeless, he's a drug addict."

Matthew looked at her sharply. "I've been doing better." He protested, "And you've had to put up with what I have had to live with, you would have used to."

Brenna had to admit that he got there. For all of her crimes, she had never had to worry about not having a roof over her head during the worst of weather. Sherlock, however, was not willing to be so understanding. "You remember what we agreed on. I would use you for your observational skills; in return you would stop using. I put my good faith in you and this is what I get?"

Brenna was surprised when Matthew actually looked humble in the face of Sherlock's disproval. "Look, I slipped up, all right? You know how difficult it is, you've been there yourself."

"Yes, and I also know that drugs can tamper with your ability to think and observe rationally. Take the word of someone who knows, they don't help. They only make the problem worse. I need you at your most observant Matthew, just as I need everyone in the network. If you can't control yourself on your own, get help, or I will look elsewhere for information."

"Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry, really, I'll do better, I promise."

Brenna looked at Sherlock, and she thought she saw, just for a split second, an expression not so much of compassion perhaps, but understanding. Sherlock did seem to know what this kid was going through, and was willing to give him another chance, if only because he had been given one himself. It made him seem actually human. But as suddenly as it was there, it was gone, replaced by that aloof, detached demeanor. "Thank you for the information, Matthew." He handed Matthew a fifty pound note and said, "Don't use it on drugs. I'll know if you do."

With that, Sherlock abruptly turned and began to walk away. Brenna barely had time to mutter her thanks, and speed after Sherlock, who was able to cover quite a bit of ground with his long stride. "What was that about?" she asked.

Sherlock glanced at her. "What?"

"I just find it hard to believe that you happen to know exactly where to find a homeless former drug addict at just the right moment, nor why he was so willing to give you information."

"Matthew is a member of my Homeless Network. They're my eyes and ears all over the city. Things that others would miss stand out quite clearly to them."

Brenna had to admit, that was pretty ingenious. Homeless people were on every street corner in London. People would most likely just dismiss them as nonexistent, speaking things in their hearing that they might be more cautious about in other circumstances. "Oh, I see. So, you make their lives a bit more bearable in exchange for information. I wasn't expecting something like that from you."

"What weren't you expecting?"

"Kindness, I suppose."

Sherlock stopped and looked at Brenna. "I can assure you, Miss Ryan, that my contacts within the Homeless Network have nothing whatsoever to do with charity."

"Really? Than why were you so willing to give that Matthew person another chance when he seems to have a history of addiction?"

"I am merely making sure that my information is coming from an accurate source. When Matthew is clean, he is one of the sharpest eyes and ears in this part of London. For your information, this is his first slip up in nearly six months. Before that, he was completely useless to anyone, including himself. If I didn't trust him to act on his word of trying again, I would take my business elsewhere."

Brenna couldn't help but think that there was something more to this whole thing. Perhaps Sherlock considered his motives to be merely self-seeking. But she knew that charity could sometimes be merely for show, with no real heart behind it. That kind of donation only left cold emptiness in its wake. She had seen no such thing in Matthew's face. He had clearly wanted Sherlock to respect him. It seemed that despite himself, Sherlock did produce some good in his wake. It gave her yet another mystery to ponder in the person of Sherlock Holmes.

They said no more of the matter, but made their way to the address which James had given them. It was an old, run-down neighborhood in London's seedier district. The street which they ended up on was filled on both sides with abandoned houses, and the specific house itself seemed to be as empty as any of the rest. "I don't know if this is the wisest place to seek refuge from the police." Said Brenna, as they surveyed the house.

Sherlock looked at her. "He is a thief, and if he really did kill his partner, as you mentioned was a distinct possibility, then he would probably want to be in the least likely place anyone would imagine to look for him."

"I still don't think that this is a murderer that we're actually looking for. And besides, an old abandoned house like this is not a good hiding place. When you're a thief, your first line of defense should be to disappear in a crowd. If anyone spotted one of these houses as having a resident, they would call the police and then James would have been arrested for trespassing anyway. No, he came here for a different reason, but what?"

The two of them looked around the premises of the house for a few minutes, trying to see what they could gather from the surroundings. They found a back window that had been opened more than a few times recently. As they managed to get into the house itself, they did see signs that there had been people there. There were footprints in the inch thick dust which had collected on the floor, remnants of meals, and old pieces of clothing. Whatever this place had been for the thieves, it had clearly been an important location.

"What if my original idea was correct, only in a different sense?" Sherlock asked, after a few minutes.

Brenna nodded, catching onto Sherlock's meaning. "I think I see what you're saying. This place was a safehouse, but that can mean many things to a thief." She began to look around the main room with a different eye, trying to notice things as a thief would see them. "In this instance, this house is abandoned, an out of the way location that no one thinks to search to store items that they might have stolen." She immediately spotted it; the furthest corner of the room, that was nearly swept clean of dust. She went over to it, and examined the floorboards. "It looks like these floorboards have been pried up somehow and then put back in their original place. Give me a hand, will you?"

Sherlock complied, and as the two of them strained to get the floorboards up, he found himself wondering. When he had first spied Brenna that night at the party, he had been certain that she was nothing more than a rookie officer, on her first undercover assignment, and with no experience in these matters whatsoever. The more he saw of her methods, though, the more he began to wonder. He had seen that the rest of the officers, except it seemed for Inspector Bennett, instinctively avoided Brenna's presence. It was as though there was something about her which set them on edge. She also seemed to be far more knowledgeable of the criminal underworld than he had first given her credit for. There was something about her which he had not been able to guess right away, something that was fairly important to her entire personality. But, he couldn't see it. Normally, everyone he encountered in a day was so easy to read, but Brenna was proving to be more of a challenge than he had ever before encountered. It frustrated him, but at the same time, he found her to be far more interesting because of it. It was an odd situation for him to be in, and he really wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about it.

After a few minutes of mutual tugging and pulling, the finally managed to get the floorboards up, and sure enough, hidden underneath them was a strong box. Brenna lifted it out of the aperture in the floor and set it down. "Definitely something heavy inside here." she said, as she tested its weight. "We won't know for sure until we get this open."

"So, we need to break it open." Said Sherlock, sarcastically, "That shouldn't take us long at all, should it?" He noticed that Brenna was giving him a look. "What?"

"Why do you men always insist on breaking things when there is an easier way to go about it?" Sherlock looked confused, and he clearly had no idea what she was talking about. Brenna rolled her eyes. "Give me five minutes with this thing. Try and be quiet during that time, if you can stand not hearing yourself for that long."

Opening strong boxes with combinations such as this was hardly a challenge for Brenna. Listening to the rhythm and sequence of the clicks made by the lock was as easy for her to read as a piece of music. In less than five minutes, she had managed to crack open the safe, a feat which impressed Sherlock, though he would never have admitted it openly to anyone. Inside the safe, were jewels of every color and description: pearl earrings from Medieval Byzantine, gold and silver bracelets from France in the eighteenth century, emerald rings that bore the cut of being from modern day Ireland. There could be no mistaking that this was a thief's stash. But the most damning piece of evidence was placed right on the top of the pile: they were the blue carbuncles which Lucy Parr had been wearing the night she was murdered, the same necklace which had been stolen from her body after she had been killed.

* * *

From this same discovery, it seemed that all the evidence pointed in the direction of James Ryder as being responsible for Lucy's murder. However, Brenna still entertained doubts. Something just wasn't right about the carbuncles, but she wasn't able to determine what that was until the following day. She got Alice's permission to take the carbuncles to Bart's Morgue, in order to do some further research.

It was there that she found out just what it was that had tipped off her suspicions. Molly Hooper, the same pathologist who she had met the first day of the case, happened to be in the same room as herself when she noticed that Brenna was smiling in triumph. "Is everything all right? What did you find?"

"These jewels are fake." Said Brenna.

"Really, you can tell that?"

"Yes. Every jewel that's naturally made has some sort of flaw in it. These jewels are to perfect to be anything other than hand made."

Molly seemed to take a moment to think about this for a moment. "But that doesn't make any sense. Why would a murderer kill someone for the real jewels, only to replace them with fake ones?"

"Someone must be trying to put us off." Said Brenna, "They didn't plan it very well because all of the other jewels are real. They must not have thought that anyone would have been able to tell the difference."

"They didn't count on you, obviously." Said Molly, with a little smile.

Brenna found herself returning the smile. She had seen that it was rather impossible not to like Molly. When Sherlock was nowhere in sight, she was actually quite smart and easy to talk to. She was very sweet and kind. Brenna's only thought was that she was just painfully shy, especially when it came to Sherlock. It was obvious that the poor girl had a crush on him, which Sherlock was totally oblivious to. Brenna really couldn't understand what it was that Molly saw in Sherlock; he might have been good looking (even Brenna couldn't deny that), and she would even admit to his having a certain charisma. But beyond that, all she had been able to see of him was nothing more than cold, emotionless deduction.

"Molly, I hope you won't think me being to forward, but why are so willing to put up with Sherlock? He seems to have free run of this morgue when you're here. I don't see what's in it for you. He seems to treat you so terribly."

Molly fidgeted for a few seconds, before she admitted, "I-I know that you probably think I'm insane for putting up with him. I don't always understand myself, to be honest. I know that Sherlock doesn't think of me at all. I'm just someone useful to him. But…"

"But, what?"

"Well, I don't know how much of this I should tell you, but I can say that when Sherlock was… was recovering, he found a refuge here, a place where he could be safe. I think that he felt free of temptation here. I guess that I want to give him that sense of security. I think that everyone is entitled to that, even Sherlock."

"But, must you provide that at the risk of your own happiness?" Brenna questioned, "I can applaud your selflessness, Molly. It's more than I would be willing to do. But, if you ask me, I think you could do so much better than Sherlock. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he wouldn't be able to deserve you even if he tried, and you deserve so much better."

Molly looked at her, and her smile widened. "Really? You think so?"

"I wouldn't have said if I didn't believe it."

As Brenna was leaving the hospital to return to the Yard, she received a call on her cell phone. She didn't recognize the number, so she answered cautiously. "Hello, who is this?"

"Regina King?" Brenna immediately recognized the voice. It was Mary Holder, the woman who had been chatting with Lucy Parr the night she had been murdered.

"Yes, this is she."

"This is Mary Holder. I think that Lucy Parr might have mentioned me. I wanted to know if that job you told her about, the one with the beryls in Brussels is still on."

Brenna took a moment to consider her answer. Why would Mary Holder still be interested in such an offer now, when she had seemingly lost her entire team? It seemed as though a new piece had been added to an already confusing puzzle. "I might still have the offer. But, forgive me for being blunt, Miss Holder. One of your group has been murdered and another has disappeared. I don't feel as confidant in you as I used to be."

"I can assure you, Miss King, those are temporary set backs. Please, meet with me in three days time, and I might be able to introduce you to some new members I am recruiting. They are far more promising than my last associates."

Brenna had to bite back the disgusted reply that was on the tip of her tongue. There was nothing that she hated more than people who sold out their comrades on a job. People might have said there was no honor amongst thieves, and perhaps that was true in some cases. But those on the circuit, who were really serious about their heists, knew that the slightest hint of betrayal could very well put them all in jail. She had no respect for people like that.

However, it seemed that Mary Holder was attempting to make a deal that struck her as being suspicious. There was no way that she could tell if she had any part in killing Lucy, but she just might know something. Brenna knew that she had to make the most of it. "All right, Miss Holder. I will hear you out. Tell me where to meet you."

Mary gave her the address, before hanging up. Brenna knew that she had to get to the Yard. She somehow sensed that a break was coming up in this case. And if they were to make the most of it, Alice and Sherlock needed to know.


	12. Flashback VI: Deepening Mysteries

Flashback VI: Deepening Mysteries

Despite the fact that she intended to tell Alice what had happened. Brenna held off for the time being. She needed information straight from the source, and if her suspicions were proving correct, she knew exactly where to start with that. However, there was one person that she did text, much against her better judgment. But, Sherlock was supposed to be working with her, and she intended to show him that there were ways to work which didn't involve leaving out information from the other.

When Brenna got home, she found that Sherlock was waiting for her. "I got your text." He said, "You were contacted by Ryder's remaining business associate?"

"Former business associate, I wouldn't be surprised." Said Brenna, "She seemed very anxious in trying to convince me that she had a better proposition in mind."

Brenna let Sherlock inside and continued speaking as she did so. "I don't know if it links her to the murder, but it definitely strikes me as being suspicious. I might want to keep her on my radar. I set up a meeting with her in three days time, at the hotel where the auction is going to be taking place. I might want you to come with me"

Now, as Brenna had been speaking, Sherlock's gaze had swept over the entire living room, picking up on the little details of Brenna's private life and piecing them altogether. This was his first opportunity to actually get a reading on her, and it was somewhat a relief to him that he could pick things up so easily, since her personality itself was still proving to be a baffling mystery to him.

Upright piano right beside the window, but with dust on it. She could play, but it didn't look like she liked to do it often. Perhaps it brought up to many memories, but she couldn't bear to get ride of it, most likely because of sentimental reasons. There were a good many works of art around the room, both painting and sculpture. Mostly, they seemed to be from the Renaissance and Impressionistic periods, though there were scatterings of other periods all around. She had an eclectic taste in art, and had a wide range of interests, but she believed the Renaissance and Impressionism to be the most beautiful. Multiple copies of Jane Austen, Shakespeare, and Elizabeth Gaskell. A well-loved copy of the 1995 version of Pride and prejudice on the table. That established her as being a romantic at heart. However, the fact that the entire living room was neat and tidy indicated that she was also efficient and diligent.

And then, it was to the photos that Sherlock turned his attention. Photos could reveal an entire life story when observed properly. That was one reason why he had none at his flat. Another was that his family was hardly a harmonious one. Only with one member could he be said to have a stable relationship with, and he personally didn't want that advertised to the world through a photograph.

Thus, did Sherlock Holmes surreptitiously read Brenna's entire life story without her even being aware of it. However, he also was able to focus on what she was saying, and was able to respond appropriately. "Why do you want me to come with you on an undercover assignment?"

"Who knows, maybe that little gift you have at deduction will be an asset. It's proved pretty beneficial so far."

"I believe that's the best thing you have said about me."

"Don't get used to it, you still have a long way to go before you can impress me." She was looking up something on her computer, and whatever she had found seemed to bring her satisfaction. "Ah, there we go."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"I managed to see a partial list of the sellers who are going to be at the auction when I met with Burnwell. I didn't think it meant anything, but now I do. I have someone for us to go see."

"Who, if I might ask?"

Brenna shot him a smile. "You have your contacts in the world, Mr. Holmes, I have mine. I cannot wait for you to meet him."

A few minutes later, they arrived at Shane's antique store. Sherlock looked at the place doubtfully and turned to Brenna. "This is your idea? What do you think we will possibly find here?"

"I had the same reaction to your Homeless Network and look what that yielded us. Don't judge before you know the whole story, Sherlock. I would have thought that you of all people would have been able to pick up on that."

She went into the shop, and she was immediately met by the barking of the large golden retriever named Cork. The animal was the first to meet her when she came in. She soon heard Shane's voice issuing from the back of the shop. "If you're a thief, don't let Cork's friendly appearance fool you. He's a vicious attack dog."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the snarky tone of voice in Shane's voice and looked at the golden retriever, who was in the process of giving Brenna's hand several sloppy licks. "And tell me, what if she's a customer looking for some honest advice?"

Shane appeared out of the back of the shop, "Well, well, well, my current renter. What brings you over here at this time of night? Refrigerator go out on you or something?"

"No, I am here in a more official capacity."

"I don't know if I like the sound of that." said Shane, he caught sight of Sherlock and said, "Who's the stiff? He looks like a mortuary assistant."

"I beg your pardon?" said Sherlock, who was caught a little off-guard by the statement.

"Well, no offence sir, but you're dressed in black, look about as pale as a vampire and you look about as cheerful as a person who works with dead bodies should be."

Brenna rolled her eyes. "Sherlock, this is Shane Masterson. Shane, this is Sherlock Holmes, he's a private detective."

"_Consulting_ detective." Sherlock corrected.

"Right, sorry, I forgot that bit." Said Brenna.

"Consulting detective? What are you, something out of James Bond?"

"Who?" asked Sherlock.

"Don't ask anymore please." Said Brenna, who had known that introducing Shane to Sherlock was going to be the equivalent of mixing oil and water. "I just want to ask you something, Shane. Something to do with this latest case."

"All right." said Shane, after another odd look at Sherlock. "I'll do what I can though I have to say I don't know how I can help you."

"Maybe you can't, but perhaps Jack Morton can."

Shane took a closer look at Brenna. Sherlock seemed slightly confused. "Who's Jack Morton?"

"He's an alias, for Shane Masterson." Said Brenna, "Is that why you didn't want me working this case, Shane? You really think that I would turn you into the police if I found out that you were selling at the Underground Sotheby's?"

"Well, you can never be to sure in this business. Would you have trusted me in the same situation?"

"No, probably not. But then again, you taught me that."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I see," he said to Brenna, "I get my information from one questionable source, you have yours in other places."

"What do you mean?" asked Shane.

"Here we go again." said Brenna, who could see that Sherlock was getting ready to read Shane. She was going to have to get used to that. It seemed to be a pretty ordinary thing with Sherlock.

"You don't get your main source of income from this shop, you get it through more underhanded dealings, most likely by selling things on the black market. Your shoes, your watch, they're to expensive and well made to be made with the money of a normal antiques dealer. Moreover, given the fact that you have obviously had this shop for quite awhile, it follows that you must have been a criminal undercover for quite some time. This state of affairs has led to the fact that you have been married and divorced three times. Your wives either found out about your life and left you because they felt they could no longer trust you, or you found that you couldn't trust them because they were in the same trade. However, given the fact that you are willing to help Brenna in this investigation, one that inadvertently might affect whatever profit you hope to make in this Enterprise, you have some sort of moral principle which doesn't extend to murder."

Shane, quite honestly, was staring at Sherlock with open-mouthed astonishment. Before, he actually started laughing in disbelief. "You know, I think I could really like you. Is he always like this?"

"Oh, he can be even worse." Said Brenna. "I think he's quite full of useless information, I don't even know how he can remember his own name."

Shane gave Sherlock another apprising look, and then at Brenna. "Well, you would be right about the fact that I'm selling at the auction. However, I almost didn't due to some personal issues."

"Personal?" said Sherlock.

"I just put the kettle on. I'll tell you everything. Come on, Brenna," he looked at Sherlock, as if considering and then grinned, "and Google, it's in back."

Shane went to the back of the store, leaving a very confused Sherlock behind, "Google?" He questioned.

"Apparently, that's Shane's chosen nickname for you. Don't worry, he does it with everyone."

"But why Google?"

"Well, random search engine that can come up with information on the least known subjects in the blink of an eye. I don't know, makes sense to me." she breezed past Sherlock, not really knowing if she was trying to be humorous or not.

In the back of the shop, Shane indicated that they sit down at the old table in the center of the room. After he had poured them their tea, he said, in a much more serious tone than he had previously employed, "Truth is, I almost didn't sell at the auction this year, though I have many times in years past. I suppose you could say that I have a sort of unspoken, personal grudge with its current Fence."

"George Burnwell?" said Brenna, "What has he done?"

"Only stolen the job of Fence right out from under the noses of candidates who deserved it more than he did." said Shane.

"Including you, I take it?" said Sherlock, rather pointedly.

"Hey, whoever is in charge of that auction doesn't make a bad cut themselves. Besides, the auction has always at least had a veneer of respectability. They could accuse it's sellers of many things perhaps, but murder was never one of them. I fear what might happen now that Burnwell is in charge."

"Why would you fear that?" said Brenna, "I met the man myself. He didn't seem to be the nefarious type."

"Well, you haven't been in London the past few years, Brenna. Burnwell has built up a name for himself as a notorious rake and a scoundrel. He uses that silken tongue of his to seduce unsuspecting young female thieves into his schemes, then he runs off with the cut and the merchandise, leaving the girls with nothing but the sole responsibility of the theft. He is totally without scruples and he is not above betraying other people in pursuit of a quick fortune."

"Well, how did he manage to even become the Fence if he did all that?" said Brenna, "There are standards to be maintained. I find it difficult to believe that he could have just assumed the mantle without some objections being raised."

"Oh, there were objections, believe me. But money silenced a lot of those. Those of us who objected eventually found that we were lone voices. There simply weren't enough of us to make much of a difference. What makes me even more worried now is that he had ensnared that young Mary Holder in his grasp now. He's probably going to leave her with a broken heart."

Shane then noticed that both Sherlock and Brenna were staring at him with shocked expression. "What? What did I say?"

"Mary Holder is involved with George Burnwell?" said Brenna.

"Yes, it's the latest gossip. I'm surprised that you haven't heard it."

"Mary Holder was part of a trio of jewelry thieves." Said Sherlock, "Recently, one of them, Lucy Parr, was found dead in her hotel room and her boyfriend, James Ryder has vanished. However, a few days ago, Brenna and I found evidence that might have connected him with the murder."

"Yeah, but after what you just said, it sounds like we have another suspect to consider."

"Mr. Masterson, Do you think that George Burnwell is capable of murder?" Sherlock asked.

Shane looked at Sherlock. "I'll say it straight, Mr. Holmes. Burnwell would turn in his own mother if the reward was high enough. He would have no qualms about taking out a near stranger if he meant that he could get a shot at the beryl coronet, not to mention whatever those three have been able to get their hands on."

"Sounds like we need to let Alice know this." Said Brenna, after a moment.

"You haven't told her already?" said Shane.

"I wanted to run my suspicions past you first." Said Brenna, "You are the one who has a better idea of the inner workings of this auction."

"I'm glad that you still know who is master." Said Shane.

"Don't let it go to your head." Said Brenna, with a smirk, as she headed out the door. "Come one, Sherlock. I assume you'll want to be there for the big reveal."

Sherlock made no sound of reply, but he lingered for a moment and said to Shane in a low voice, "By the way, Mr. Masterson, how do you even know Brenna?"

"We've worked together a lot in the past."

Sherlock seemed slightly puzzled when he heard this. "What? Really?"

"Yeah, should that come as such a big surprise?"

"She hasn't been working in this business all that long. I imagine it would take time to develop a contact like you who works both sides of the law. I don't see how she could have gotten your trust so quickly."

Shane stared at Sherlock, and then smiled. "Ah, I see, she hasn't told you yet, has she?"

"Told me what?"

"You could read me in a moment, but you can't figure out the most basic part of her personality? Maybe she still does have some tricks up her sleeve."

Sherlock really had no idea what Shane was talking about. There was clearly some big thing that he was missing, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was increasingly feeling like he was working two mysteries on this case, one that involved the jewel thieves and one that involved Brenna Ryan. And he was beginning to feel that it was Brenna herself who would prove to be the greater challenge.

* * *

Alice was not exactly happy when she found out that Brenna had not only been contacted by Mary Holder, but she had also set up a meeting with her before clearing it with her superior officer. It was a little disconcerting seeing how easily Brenna could cross over between the lines of law and deception.

But, as she had made the deal, Alice was willing to let the indiscretion rest if it yielded some answers. She and Lestrade were still slightly reluctant to proceed, however, until they had some clearer evidence. It was at this point that Brenna had the idea to send out feelers for the blue carbuncles that they had in their possession, as a sort of ransom demand. Even if they were fake, it was a good bet that whoever had planted them would want even that evidence out of the hands of the police. Whoever showed up to claim them would likely be the murderer.

The only problem was that the only two people who could convincingly pull off such a scheme would have to be Sherlock and Brenna themselves. Any other members of the Force would most likely be seen as a threat, and the whole operation could be botched. So, Sherlock and Brenna resigned themselves to the fact that they would have to put up with each other in their off-hours. If it meant that they would be rid of each other by solving the case faster, than so much the better.

* * *

Please, read and review.

Next chapter: Switching back to present day, Brenna goes to Shane for information regarding the current case of the blind banker. However, the information that he ends up giving her is quite unexpected, as it plants in her minds doubts about whether or not she can trust the people closest to her.


	13. Antique Meetings

Here is the new chapter of A Thief's Mystery. Going back to the present case, and seeing if our heroes can't get a little further in the case of the Blind Banker. But it seems that there is another mystery lurking on the horizons, one that not even Brenna could have predicted. Enjoy!

Antique Meetings:

Brenna's contacts did not just extend to the juvenile delinquents who spent their days spraying paint on the buildings of London. She had others that she could reach out to for help when the need arose. One of those was her own landlord, Shane Mastersen. When she and John managed to get away from Trafalgar Square without being seen and recognized by the two community support officers, Brenna had told John that she needed to see someone about the case. John had assumed that this was more of her contact work, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to go along. After all, he hadn't been too impressed with his first encounter of Brenna's underworld contacts. He didn't really want to repeat the experience so soon.

As Shane lived within a mile of her house, Brenna also found this a good excuse to take Lily for a much needed walk. Lily was quite welcome in the shop, as were all dogs that happened to be out walking with their owners. Shane had a dog himself, a golden retriever by the name of Cork. He was ten years old, and getting along in years. But he was still able to give a bark of greeting to Lily, who promptly returned the favor.

"We could learn a lot from dogs, couldn't we?" said Shane, as the beagle and the Goldie greeted each other. "No matter how much time passes, they still greet each other with the single rapturous joy of being separated for a long time. All injuries are forgotten and they are quite as close as they ever were. Why cannot humans do the same thing?"

"I've asked myself that same question many times." said Brenna, smiling.

"And what brings you, my favorite tenant to my fine establishment this day?"

Brenna unhooked Lily from her leash, and leaned against the counter, smiling as she did so. "The last time I checked, Shane, I'm your only tenant."

"I know, it makes it easier for me to not have to play favorites. But I think I can guess. You have yet another case that can't be solved strictly within the bonds of the law so you come to me."

"That is what I have always liked about you, Shane. You get right to the point. And you seem to hit the nail on the head again in this situation."

"I always do try. So what is it this time? A stolen Rembrandt from the private collection of a member of parliament? Or perhaps a gem that belonged to one of the Shah of Persia has gone missing in a most suspect manner?"

"How about Chinese artifacts showing up in auction houses all over London? All of them from anonymous sources?"

"Anonymous, you say? Well, that does merit your attention, I suppose. Tell me, are the police intending to investigate all the auctions houses where these items are being sold?"

"No, Shane. You know that they couldn't do that."

"Exactly, which is why we are able to operate our business. No antiques dealer in London can afford to care if their merchandise comes from a dodgy dealers. If they were, they would have nothing to sell."

"Shane, this is a bit more serious than selling illicit goods. Bennett thinks that there might be a major smuggling ring from Hong Kong mixed up in this. Two men have already been murdered. If I don't get a breakthrough soon, there could be more."

Shane may have operated in the grey area of the law at times, but like Brenna, he did have a moral code killing a person in order to gain a profit was a rule that neither of them had broke."

"I see, well that is a different thing entirely."

"So, have you heard something?" said Brenna.

"I might have, though nothing that could be definite. If there really is a crime ring as you say, they will keep their secrets. However, I might have heard something through some of my more questionable colleagues that there is a drop-off in China Town, one that has just recently been added."

"Do you have a name by any chance?"

"The Lucky Cat. I'm not saying that you would find everything that you need there, but it might be a good place to start." He looked at Brenna, "Two people dead, you say?"

"Yes," said Brenna, "Quite possibly two agents for the same smuggling ring. We're still trying to figure out why they were killed."

"I think we both know that there would be only two reasons why a runner would be killed, Brenna. Either they failed to deliver a product on time or they stole something valuable. It is times like this which make me a marvel that you never actually managed to avoid the same fate. It just shows what a natural you are. Of course, I sometimes wonder if you haven't just exchanged one set of organized crime for another."

"Yes, but I don't have to work with a gun pointed at my head." Said Brenna, "Shane, come on, you know as well I do that Alice's offer to get me out of prison was the best thing that could have happened to me."

Shane, for a moment, merely nodded noncommittally. He had a suspicion of anything that resembled the law, perhaps quite obviously given his profession in life. He was never willing to admit openly that Brenna had made the right choice, though he always did have a thinly veiled approval of it

But not this time. In fact, he said nothing and deliberately looked away from her, as though trying to avoid her gaze. "Shane is anything wrong?"

"Wrong? Oh no, nothing. I'm sure that Bennett is taking excellent care of her own affairs and that she is doing nothing that concerns you."

"I'm not letting such a blatant hint rest, Shane. If you know something about Alice that you are telling me, you should. I might be able to help."

Shane, however, still seemed somewhat reluctant to speak of it. "It's nothing really," he said, "I know how much you respect her, and I don't want to be the one to drive a wedge between you."

"What possible reason could you have for being able to drive a wedge between us?"

Shane, however, just gave her a look, still not answering. Up until this point, Brenna had been half-wondering if this was some sort of joke. Now, she wasn't so sure. Shane was not only serious, he almost seemed nervous to pursue the subject. Clearly he knew or suspected something that he did not want to tell her. However, trying to hide something from Brenna was about as effective as trying to lie to her about the value of a particularly fine tapestry from the Middle Ages; it simply didn't work.

"Shane, if you know anything about Alice, I would want you to tell me."

Shane knew that she wouldn't simply let the matter rest, and so he said, with some reluctance, "All right, but don't say that I didn't warn you. Have you noticed that Alice has been behaving strangely of late?"

"No, I can't say that I have."

"Really, she doesn't take breaks at odd times throughout the day, extremely long lunch breaks, has she ever hung up the phone in the middle of a conversation when you entered the room?"

Brenna thought about this. "Once or twice maybe in the last month, but it didn't seem like a big deal. I assumed it was just the stress of her job. Police officers aren't exactly precise in their schedules you know."

"So, you don't think that she would be having an affair?"

Brenna looked at Shane, utterly shocked that he would even be thinking such a thing. "What? Alice, an affair? Are you kidding? Shane, you've heard the way that she talks about her kids. Susan and Tracy are her life. Even for their sakes, I know that she wouldn't do anything to end her marriage with Jackson. Not that she would anyway. She's committed to her marriage. Shane, why would you even think it would be something so ludicrous?"

"Well, it as only one possibility and I admit that it was a long shot. But to be quite honest, I almost hoped that it was."

"Why?"

"Because that meant that it had nothing to do with you."

"Shane, honestly, can't you give me one straight answer about this?"

Before Shane could answer, Brenna's phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it was John. "Just a moment, I need to take this. Don't think you can use it as an excuse to change the subject." She pressed the TALK button. "John, what is it? Have you found anything?"

"Yes, I have Lukis' diary. I managed to find out where he came the day that he was murdered. It's a shop in China Town called-"

"The Lucky Cat." Finished Brenna, "Yeah, I know."

"All right, that's just scary. Please tell me you don't have psychic powers or something."

Brenna laughed, "As much as I would like to say that I do, I'm afraid that I can't take credit. Truth is, I already found out about that shop from another source. I'll meet you there is twenty minutes." She hung up and turned back to Shane. "Okay, Shane, you're off the hook. I have to go meet up with John, but I won't forget this. Once this case is over, I expect a full confession."

Shane threw up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I surrender. But I still don't think you'll like it."

"I'll be the judge of that. I don't suppose you could look after Lily for me?"

"Of course, you pay me rent, so it only makes sense that I should babysit your dog for you."

"Oh yeah, like that is such a burden for you."

Brenna left Shane and caught a cab to China Town. She had no idea what was so secret that Shane seemed reluctant to speak with her about it. He had never had such a problem before. In fact, he always seemed to delight in poking his nose into her life, with the best of intentions, of course. He had been the one who had given her a detailed run through of Sherlock's background when the two of them had started a relationship, just so that Brenna would know what she was getting into with Google, Shane's nickname for Sherlock (and one that he found rather annoying). Whatever this thing was that involved Alice, he clearly didn't want her to know. She tucked this piece of information away for her to brood about later. She already had enough on her plate to worry about, and if there was one thing she had always been good at, it was prioritizing.

She soon found John at China Town, right across the street from The Lucky Cat Emporium. "John," she called, getting his attention.

"Brenna, there you are." Said John, "I'm surprised that you got here so quickly."

"I was only a short distance away."

"Meeting with more of your contacts I take it?" said John, who didn't sound too impressed, especially considering his less than stellar first encounter with Raz.

"Don't worry. Shane is legitimate, kind of. He runs an antique shop. But he also knows quite a few other things outside that, as well. You probably don't want to know."

"No, I probably don't." said John. "Has Sherlock texted you? He told me to meet him here as soon as he could. You suppose he's found out the same thing we have?"

"I wouldn't put it past him." said Brenna, "You know how he operates. What did you find out about Brian Lukis?"

"He's been pretty busy recently." Said John, showing the diary from Brian Lukis. "Flew back from Dalian only last Friday."

"He must have brought something big back during that time, something that brought him a lot of attention." Brenna's attention was suddenly caught the familiar tall form of Sherlock. "Oh, look here he comes, in full deduction mode."

Sherlock was looking at the store signs along the street, paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around him. His eyes had a fixed look, and he was muttering words which probably only made sense to himself. He was so absorbed in trying to see what it was he was looking for that he collided with John. Far to excited to both about that, he immediately launched into his explanation. "Van Coon brought a package here the day he died."

"We know that, Sherlock." Said Brenna, but Sherlock continued right on.

"Whatever was hidden inside that suitcase. I've managed to piece together his movements using scraps of information…"

"Sherlock…" said John, trying to get his attention.

"Somewhere on this street," said Sherlock, looking wildly around him once more, "Somewhere close, I don't know where."

John finally had had enough of Sherlock's ignoring him, and he pointed across the street to the Lucky Cat. "That shop over there."

That got Sherlock attention. "How can you tell?"

John held up Lukis' diary. "He was here. He wrote down the address."

Sherlock, for a moment, was totally speechless. A startled "oh" was all he could manage in response.

"Imagine that, Sherlock. John actually managed to find the place before you did. And all thanks to him noticing the simple solution."

Sherlock shot her a glance, an act which made him look more petulant and childish than threatening. He didn't really like the fact that sometimes Brenna reminded him that his hyper-active brain could spot things other people couldn't, but at the same time, could also miss the simplest of things, both about people and about life in general.

Together, the three of them walked towards The Lucky Cat and entered the shop. The place was tiny and dingy. Dust hung thickly in the air, and it seemed that no one had bought anything there for years. The three of them looked around at the many statuettes and ceramic pottery that was scattered along the shelves. Brenna was beginning to understand why this shop was not frequented. Her well-trained eyes were able to see that the merchandise on display was less than stellar quality, and probably little less than a quarter of it would be worth anything. Plus, the great majority of what the shop sold was lucky cats, which were all waving their paws in unison.

Brenna suspected that this shop was able to get its income from a very different source. She and Sherlock were looking at Buddha statuettes at one end of the shop, while at the other the shopkeeper was trying to sell John one of the lucky cats. John was trying to politely turn her down, when something caught his eye. "Sherlock, look. The label there…" Both Brenna and Sherlock came over to look at what he had discovered.

"I see it." said Sherlock.

"The same symbol as the cipher." Said Brenna, on the handwritten price tag was scrawled the same symbols which had been at the library and the bank.

Outside, they headed deeper into the streets of Chinatown. All along the shop widows and street vendors were symbols similar to what they had been investigating, along with the regular English numbers. "It's an ancient number system-Hang Zhou." Said Sherlock, "These days only street vendors use it."

"I can't believe this escaped my noticed before." said Brenna, "They were numbers on the bank and at the library, numbers in an ancient Chinese dialect." She stopped at a stall for a Chinese grocer and began to examine the tags. "If we can find a match between the symbols here, it might help us crack whatever is being said."

It didn't take long for John to find a match. "It's a number fifteen. Look, what we thought was the artist's tag, it's a number fifteen."

Sherlock had found the other missing piece of the puzzle. "And the blindfold. The horizontal line. It's a number as well. It's the Chinese number one, John."

"We found it." said John.

* * *

Well, they are finally getting somewhere. And I need to say that this chapter has really set in motion an over arching theme that will be leading into this season, as well as season 2. I won't give anything away, though. Just like every mystery, all the elements only are revealed when they need to be. But for right, please read and review.

Next chapter: Brenna and Sherlock invesitage the flat of Soo Lin Yao, but end up running into a certain Chinese assassin. That can only mean that they are on the right track, right?


	14. Sneak Attack

Here is another update of A Thief's Mystery. Enjoy.

Sneak Attack:

Now that they had found the cipher, hopefully they could start to get somewhere with the case. They went back to a café across from The Lucky Cat, where they went over what they had so far. "Two men travel back to China. They both come straight to The Lucky Cat Emporium. What did they see?" said John.

"It's not what they saw." Said Sherlock, "It's what they brought back with them in those suitcases."

"You don't mean duty-free?" said John.

"No," said Brenna, "They were smuggling something for whatever crime syndicate they were employed by. The Lucky Cat was obviously their drop-free point. It's the only way a story like that could still stay open. They were making their money a different way."

"And they weren't the only ones." Said Sherlock, "Remember what Sebastian told us about Van Coon; about how he kept afloat in the market."

"Lost five million."

"Made it back a week later. This is how he made such easy money."

"Smugglers can have it pretty good." Said Brenna, "You need to be smart enough to cover your tracks and have a good cover. If you can do that, the payment can be excellent."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience." Said John.

"I might have smuggled more than a few things in my day. Though nothing like that, they were always for independent contractors."

"And a guy like Van Coon-he would have been perfect. A businessman, taking regular trips to Asia. And Lukis, a journalist writing about China. They smuggled something out. As Brenna said, The Lucky Cat was the drop off."

"Why did they die?" said John, "It doesn't make sense. If they both turned up at the shop and delivered the goods. Why would someone threaten them and kill them after the events? After they finished the job?"

After only a moment of pondering, Brenna said, "Just like smugglers can make a good living from their employers, when one of them makes a mistake the consequences can be dire."

"But what mistake could a smuggler make that would get him killed?" John asked.

"Quite a few actually." Said Brenna, "Not showing up to the job site on time, bungling the operation, or worst of all, being light fingered."

"How do you mean?"

"Yes, of course, Brenna. That's brilliant." Said Sherlock, "What if one of them stole something, something from the hoard?"

John suddenly realized what the two of them were getting at. "The killer doesn't realize which one of them took it, so he threatens them both."

But at this time, Sherlock wasn't listening. His attention had been drawn by something across the street. "Remind me: when was the last time it rained?"

Sherlock left the table without bothering to see if they followed. They really didn't have a choice but to go after him. At the door which was right next door to The Lucky Cat. The sign on the door bell read Soo Lin Yao. There was a telephone directory leaning against the door. Its plastic sleeve was wet from the rain stream a few days before. It also was leaning against the door, so that it couldn't be moved unless someone opened the door.

"It's been on the step since Monday." Said Sherlock, examining the water-logged pages. He stood up and rand the doorbell. No one answered. "No one's been in this flat for at least three days."

Sherlock left the door, and hurried down the alley way, Brenna and John following. Sherlock stopped, looking up at the windows that were at the back of the flat. "Could have gone on holiday." John suggested.

"Do you normally leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock asked, pointedly referring to the wide open windows of the flat.

He jumped up to grab hold of the fire escape and proceeded to climb up, while Brenna followed him. Neither of them seemed to consider John's opinion or ask whether or not he could or would follow them. And as the fire escape ladder rode up and out of reach the next moment, it was sort of a moot point. Thus, John was left rather flustered in the alley and had nothing to do but hurry back in the direction of the street.

The first thing that Sherlock noticed when he hopped into the room was that he immediately bumped into a table, causing a vase filled with water to fall off. He barely managed to grab it before it fell to the floor and shattered. "Remember to look before you leap, Sherlock." Said Brenna, as she climbed into the room. "Good thing this wasn't a real heist or we might be in trouble."

Sherlock beamed her a glare of annoyance, before he noticed something on the floor. There was a small puddle of water, left from where someone else had come into the room the same way they just had. At this moment, the door bell rang. Indicating that John was swiftly losing patience. "I'm not the first." Sherlock shouted to John, "Someone came in here and knocked over the vase, just like I did."

"What?" said John, through the mail slot.

"Somebody's been in her before us."

Sherlock was headed for the washing machine and Brenna immediately interceded. "Uh, Sherlock, I'll look through the washing. Go and check the milk in the refrigerator."

Sherlock looked at her, confused. "What difference does it make?'

"I don't want my boyfriend to go digging through some strange woman's underwear." Sherlock still looked completely lost. "Look, just do as I say."

Sherlock was still having difficulty seeing the significance of this, but Brenna had on her "Don't Argue With Me" face, so he decided to concede the point. He went over to the refrigerator, and smelled the milk. He recoiled the overwhelmingly sour smell, and immediately put the offending carton back in the fridge. He looked over at Brenna, only to see that he nose was also curled up in distaste as she sniffed the clothing.

"Someone hasn't been in this flat for days." She said, "I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up having to leave here in a hurry."

John continued shouting through the mail slot and ringing the doorbell. Brenna was half wondering why Sherlock wasn't letting him in. but Sherlock seemed totally oblivious to anything that wasn't directly connected to the case. He had just noticed that there were footprints in the carpet, and he took out his magnifying glass to examine them more closely. "Size 8 feet, small, but athletic." He scoured around the apartment some more, finding a picture of two small children over the mantelpiece. He picked it up and continued to study the fingerprints on the glass of the frame.

"Sherlock, should I…" Brenna asked in reference to John's obvious impatience at being left out, yet again.

But Sherlock still wasn't listening. "Small, strong hands, our acrobat. Why didn't he close the window when he lef-" Sherlock stopped suddenly and mentally kicked himself for missing such an obvious error. "Oh, stupid, stupid."

Brenna had finally given up waiting for Sherlock and was moving to let John in herself, when Sherlock suddenly said, "Brenna, don't move. He's still here."

Brenna looked around her, and her eyes settled on the large screen across the room. Sherlock also saw it and moved cautiously towards it. He reached out a hand to pull aside the screen, when the attack they had been bracing for, came unexpectedly from behind.

Brenna was suddenly thrown roughly to the floor. Completely winded and half dazed, she was unable to help Sherlock when he was pounced on from behind by a man completely dressed in black, with a hood covering his face. He wrapped a white cord tightly around Sherlock's neck, and began to strangle him. Sherlock flailed, but it was useless. Having been completely off-guard, there was no way for him to fight back.

Luckily, Brenna had often had to deal with being attacked unexpectedly. She was quick to recover from falls, and when she saw that Sherlock was being strangled, she leaped to her feet and hurried for the door of the flat. She couldn't take the Chinese assassin on her own. She needed back-up.

She tore the door open, only to catch the last part of what John was saying. "… Compete with my massive intellect. Oh, Brenna, it's you."

"No, time to explain, John. Hurry, get in here." Brenna grabbed John by the arm and hauled him into the flat, which understandably caused him a bit of confusion. "Sherlock's gone and got himself attacked by our Chinese assassin."

"What? How-"

They had reached the living room, only to find that the attacker had vanished, leaving Sherlock in a crumpled heap on the floor. He was gasping for breath, but he otherwise seemed unharmed.

Coughing and gasping, Sherlock couldn't say anything for a few minutes. When he finally did, he looked at Brenna in thinly veiled annoyance. "You let him get away."

"I'm sorry?"

"You let him get away. He knew he was outnumbered, so he ran."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to save you life. Besides, you were the one who was calling for John."

Sherlock shot Brenna another glare, but another round of coughing racked his body, and he couldn't come up with a snappy reply.

"Sherlock, I'm agreeing with Brenna on this one." said John, "Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine." Said Sherlock, still sounding very hoarse.

"Yes, just ignore the fact that he nearly got strangled, John." said Brenna sarcastically. "It might actually be a good sign. If someone wants to kill Sherlock, we must be on the right track."

Sherlock had managed to get to his feet by this point, though his movements still lacked their usual grace. His hand closed around an odd object in his pocket, and he withdrew a small black flower folded in intricate black paper. "What's that?" John asked.

"It's a lotus flower." Said Brenna, taking the ornament from Sherlock's hand. "Two identical ones were found with Van Coon and Lukis when they died."

"That's the real reason why he didn't finish me off." Said Sherlock, "They're trying to send a signal. But I think I was the intended target. It was whoever was living at this flat. The milk's gone sour and the washing is starting to smell, someone left here in a hurry three days ago."

"Someone?" said John.

"Soo Lin Yao." Said Sherlock, "We have to find her."

"How exactly?"

Sherlock had started for the door that had been left ajar when John had so hurriedly come in. At the foot of the door was a folded up piece of paper. He reached down to retrieve it. _Soo Lin Yao, please ring me. Let me know that you are okay. Andy_. The note had been written on the back of an old envelope, on which was printed_ National antiquities museum_. "We can start with this."

The three of them set off down the street, Sherlock still experiencing spasms of heavy coughing. "Are you sure you're all right?" asked John, one last time.

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

"Don't worry, John." said Brenna, "Sherlock has endured far worse then this, and believe me, he got of it unscathed."

* * *

Please read and review.

Next chapter: Another step closer to solving the case, butwithout more information, they just might be at a dead end. It's going to take going to the museum at night in order to find Soo Lin.


	15. Cracking the Code

**Sorry, uploaded these two chapterst to A Thief's Life instead of A Thief's Mystery. Corrected now. **

This is kind of a short chapter, so I decided to do a double header. Hope that you enjoy!

Cracking the Code:

The trail to Soo Lin Yao brought them to the National Antiquities Museum. Unfortunately, it seemed at first that they had hit another dead end. She had resigned her job that very morning. However, they were able to find someone who was willing to help them, Andy Galbraith. He was the one who had left the note at Soo Lin Yao's flat, and it was obvious from the way he talked about her that he had really liked her, a lot. He seemed relived that he wasn't the only one who considered her disappearance strange.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Sherlock asked, as he led them into the Chinese room.

"Three days ago. Here at the museum." Said Andy, "This morning they told me she'd resigned, just like that. Left her work unfinished."

"What was the last thing she did, on her final afternoon?"

Andy let them down into the store room of the museum. "There." Said Andy, pointing to the cabinet of Chinese artifacts at the far end of the hall. "She does this demonstration for the tourists, a tea ceremony. She'd have placed her things away and put them there."

However, Sherlock's attention had been drawn by one of the statues that was in the shadowed corner of the store room. Its dust cover was untied, unlike the other statues which were all securely fashioned. He and Brenna walked up to the statue and Sherlock pulled the dustcover from the statue. Written on the body of the statue was the cipher.

Had they wanted any clearer idea that someone was after So Lin Yao, this was all that was needed to put those doubts to right. The three left the museum in a hurry, saying that they would get in touch with Andy once they had anything or should they need his help.

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao." Said Sherlock.

"If she's still alive. That cipher, it means he's planning to kill her next." Said John.

"And considering how quickly the other two victims have met their ends, it won't be long before he even manages to track her down." said Brenna.

At that moment, a voice came to them from behind. "Sherlock, Brenna." Turning, they saw Raz running to catch up with them.

"Well, look who it is." said John, with very little enthusiasm.

Raz ignored John, focusing his attention on Brenna and Sherlock. "I've found something you'll like."

Raz brought them to the South Bank. Underneath the Hayward Galleries and the surrounding streets was a popular den of street artists. The walls were covered with graffiti, in every conceivable color, with designs layered on top of designs. "If you wanted to hide a tree then the best to do it is a forest, wouldn't you say so?" Said Sherlock, "People would just walk past it, now knowing, not able to decipher the message."

Raz pointed. "There." There were remnants of the yellow paint and cipher, covered by more recent artist's exploits.

"This is certainly the same paint." Said Brenna, "They've been here. If this was the signal, than the rest of the smugglers stationed in London must be able to decipher it. There must be more of the complete message somewhere around here for them to find."

The three of them split up to see what more of the cipher they could find. Sherlock and Brenna were able to find a few spray paint cans, but not much else. At one point, while they were going along a wall that had flyers for numerous gigs and club events, one of them caught his eye. He stared at it intently for a few seconds, before tearing off a corner of the poster, while Brenna lingered for a moment to see what had caught his eye. She stored it away for future use.

But, still they found nothing that could lead them to the cipher. It was John who sought them out, saying that he had found it. However, when he led them to the place where he had seen the symbols, there was nothing but a blank, brick wall. "I don't understand it. It was here." said John, understandably confused. "I saw it, a whole load of graffiti."

Brenna reached out to touch the wall. "Don't worry, John. You're not hallucinating. The paint's still dry. Someone covered up whatever you saw in a hurry."

"Someone doesn't want me to see it." said Sherlock. He suddenly grabbed hold of John, planting both his hands on the sides of his friend's head.

Not surprisingly, John had absolutely no idea of what Sherlock was trying to do. "Hey-Sherlock! What are you doing?"

"Shh, John, I need you to concentrate. Shut your eyes."

"What?" said John, who was starting to fell slightly wierded out by what Sherlock was doing? "No. what for? What are you doing?"

Deaf to John's objections, Sherlock clamped onto John's arm and began spinning him around. "I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you remember it?"

"Yeah, sure."

"You can remember the pattern?"

"Yes, definitely."

"How much can you remember?"

"Look, don't worry…" John tried to reassure Sherlock.

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only 62% accurate."

"Well, don't worry. I remember it all."

"Really?" said Sherlock, skeptically.

John had finally had enough of being turned around and about like a top, and shook himself out of Sherlock's grasp. "Well, at least I could, if I could get to my pockets. I took a photograph."

The sound of muffled laughter caused them both to pause and look at Brenna, who had been watching the entire scene in obvious amusement.

"It's not funny." said Sherlock.

"That depends on what angle you're viewing it from." She responded. "Honestly, Sherlock, bested twice in such a short time by a lesser mortal? Heaven forbid. Besides, it's utterly laughable you trying to put John in a trance."

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" said John, "You might have said."

"Either way, it wouldn't have worked. Those techniques only work on people who are open to suggestion, and you, John, are one of the least suggestible people I have ever met."

"Uh, thank you, I think." Said John, as he fished out his phone and showed them both the photograph he had taken of the complete cipher. They had the cipher, now all they needed was to crack the code.


	16. Zhi Zhou

There are a few additions to the backstory of this chapter, which comes from the on-line screenplay of The Blind Banker. I would actually highly recommend checking it out. It's kind of interesting seeing just how a Sherlock script comes together.

Zhi Zhou:

Getting the cipher told them something about the code. The symbols always appeared in pairs, each number having a specific partner. There could only be one possible reason why someone would have gone to so much trouble to create the code: it was information, only people with ties to that underworld would have been able to crack it, or someone who used to have ties.

They needed to find Soo Lin Yao. If the killer was targeting her, that meant that she knew something, and they had to find her before this mysterious killer. The only one who might have had any idea of her whereabouts was Andy, back at the museum.

"Two men died after visiting China. The killer left them messages, written the Hang Zhou dialect." Sherlock told him.

"Soo Lin Yao is in danger. That cipher, it was just the same pattern as the others, he means to kill her as well." said John

"I've tried everywhere. Her friend; her colleagues. I don't know where she's gone. She could be a thousand miles away." Andy was clearly as desperate to find So Lin as they were, but he had no more idea than they did of her whereabouts.

However, Brenna had suddenly noticed something in one of the displays. "Andy, these tea pots, tell me about them. You said that Soo Lin was looking after them."

There were several small tea pots in the display. Brenna was staring at them intently, and drawn by her attention, Sherlock was also starting to look at them. "Those pots were her obsession." Said Andy, "They need urgent work. If they dry out, the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to keep making tea in them."

"Lat time we were here," Sherlock said, "Only one of those pots were shining. Tell me, Brenna what does that say to you?"

"It says to me that someone considers these pots to be a work of art, their life's work. And they won't leave until the task is finished."

"Even at the risk of their lives?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, I believe so. I think I know where Soo Lin Yao really is."

* * *

Soo Lin Yao had never left the museum. She had hid in the tunnels and labyrinths underneath the structure, coming out only at night to wash the pots which were so dear to her. As Brenna watched her sitting at her desk in the restoration room and begin her work, she couldn't help but feel a sort of kinship with her. Soo Lin Yao was an artist with an artist's passion and drive. Many might have questioned her sanity in staying here this long. However, Brenna was aware that very often artists were driven by a vision of beauty that was difficult, if not impossible to resist. She should know; it was partly that vision which had made her turn thief.

Soo Lin was so absorbed in her work that she didn't notice the figure from the shadows, approaching her silently from behind, until it was too late. "Fancy a biscuit with that?" Soo Lin gasped, no doubt thinking that some unseen terror was coming at her. In her shock, she dropped the tea pot, only for it to be rescued mid-air by Sherlock. He looked at the pot and then looked at Soo Lin. "Centuries old. Don't want to break that." He set the pot back on the table and turned on the light above it, illuminating both himself and Soo Lin in a ring of light. "Hello, Soo Lin Yao isn't it?"

"Who are you?" Squeaked Soo Lin, still more than a little terrified. "What do you want?"

"We want to help you." said Brenna, coming forward into the light, along with John. "Soo Lin, don't be afraid. We only want to talk to you. My name is Brenna Ryan, this is John Watson and the man who about gave you a hear attack is Sherlock Holmes."

Soo Lin looked at all three of them in turn, clearly questioning whether or not she could trust them. "Soo Lin," said John, "We've been trying to find you for the first past two days. We've been to your flat; we know that someone else is looking for you."

Soo Lin hesitated a few moments more, but she asked, "Why were you looking for me?"

"Because two men have been murdered in mysterious circumstances over the past week." Said Sherlock, "The killer left a cipher behind him, and all the trails of evidence lead back to you."

Soo Lin took a shuddering breath and sat down on the stool she had been using. "You saw the cipher. You know he is coming for me."

"You've been clever to avoid him so far." Said Sherlock, his voice a bit softer than it normally was when interviewing someone. Even Sherlock seemed to sense that Soo Lin was frightened, and trying to bully information out of her would yield little, if any results.

"I had to finish," said Soo Lin, looking at the tea pots. "To finish this work. But it is only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

"It sounds like you know something of his nature." Said Brenna.

"Who is he? Have you met him before?" Sherlock asked.

Soo Lin nodded. "When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognize his… signature."

"The cipher?" said Sherlock.

"Only he would do this, Zhi Zhou."

"What?" John asked.

"It means 'the spider.'" Said Sherlock.

"That would explain our killer's penchant for climbing." Said Brenna, "Soo Lin, do you know who Zhi Zhou was working for? We have leads that he might be connected with a Chinese smuggling ring."

Soo Lin seemed to hesitate for a moment, before she took off her shoe. On her heel was a small black tattoo, a lotus flower inscribed inside a circle. "You know this mark?"

"Yes, it's the mark of a tong." Said Sherlock, at John's quizzical expression, he explained. "An ancient crime syndicate, based in China."

"Every foot soldier bears the mark-every, one who hauls for them."

"Hauls?" said John, "You mean… you were a smuggler?"

"I was fifteen, my parents were dead. I had no livelihood. No way to survive day to day, except to work for the bosses."

"Soo Lin, who are they?" said Brenna, "Which specific tong did you work for?"

"They are called the Black Lotus."

Brenna inhaled sharply, her eyes growing wide with shock. When both John and Sherlock looked at her questioningly, she said, "Black Lotus is one of the most well-known and dangerous tongs in all of China, as well as the most secretive. Hardly anyone has ever been caught that could be connected with it. They're infamous for supplying drugs and illegal arms all over the world."

"Yes, that is what I did." said Soo Lin, in a quiet voice. "By that time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong."

"Until you finally decided that you had had enough." Said Brenna, who knew all to well what Soo Lin had gone through. She saw even more of herself in this woman than she had suspected at first. It was a choice that eventually all criminals like her had to make: to continue on in search of some elusive life which they would either find or not, or leave it all behind for the sake of starting over.

"I managed to leave that life behind me." said Soo Lin, with a nod, "I came to England. They gave me a job here. Everything was good. A new life."

"And then he caught up with you?" said Brenna.

Soo Lin nodded, tears filling in her eyes, but they did not look like the tears of fear. "Yes, I had hoped, after five years… maybe they would have forgotten about me. But they never really let you leave. A small community like ours, they are never really very far away. He came to my flat three days ago. He asked me to help him, to track down something that was stolen."

"You've no idea what it was?" John questioned.

Soo Lin shook her head. "I refused to help."

"So he sent you the cipher as punishment." Said Sherlock.

The tears were falling freely down Soo Lin's face by this time. "He is ruthless. A fanatic. He would strike down anyone. He said that I had betrayed him."

Brenna well recognized the anguish in Soo Lin's voice. It was the anguish of someone who had encountered a family member whom they no longer recognized, and who no longer recognized them. "You knew him well when you were living back in China, didn't you?" she said.

Soo Lin nodded, "O yes, he is my brother. Our parents were dead. Two orphans, we had no choice. We could for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call, Shan, Black Lotus General. I turned him away. Next day, I came into work and the cipher was waiting."

Brenna could not imagine what Soo Lin was going through. She knew well of the cult-like atmosphere that existed within these smuggling rings. The runners could become devoted to their leaders, gaining prestige and power along the way. Orphans were a special target, as the smuggling ring would become the only family that they had ever known. And as they grew, they were completely unaware of what the leaders were twisting them into, which oftentimes were nothing short of murderers. It was a miracle that Soo Lin had gotten out of it alive, and now that her past had come back to haunt her, Brenna was determined to save her if she could.

"We want to help you, Soo Lin." She said, gently, as she put a comforting hand over her own. "We need you to decipher something for us. If we can find out whatever it was your brother was looking for, we can stop him."

Soo Lin nodded, and Sherlock took out the pictures of the cipher they had taken over the past few days. Soo Lin looked at the ciphers for a moment, before saying. "They're numbers."

"Yes," confirmed Sherlock.

"Here, the line across the man's eyes. This is a Chinese number one."

"And this is fifteen." Said Sherlock, pointing to the second cipher. "But what's the code."

"All the smugglers know it. It's based on a book…"

Before she could say anything else, the lights in the museum abruptly went out, plunging the entire room into shadowy darkness. "He's here!" Breathed Soo Lin, in a terrified whisper, "Zhi Zhou has found me."

Sherlock, with his customary quickness, immediately shot off into the darkness of the museum exhibit. "Sherlock," cried John, as his best friend, as usual, plunged head long into danger without looking back. He grabbed hold of Soo Lin, who was by this time operating in a near catatonic state.

The three of the hurried into a nearby storage closet, shouting the door behind them. The second ticked by endlessly, Soo Lin was shivering uncontrollably, her eyes wide and terrified. "He's here, I know he's here." she said, in a tiny whisper, "He'll find me, he'll kill me."

"Soo Lin, look at me." said Brenna, as she took her by the shoulders, "Listen to me, nothing is going to happen to you. I promise you will walk away from this."

Before Soo Lin could answer, multiple gun shots broke the silence. Despite wanting to be strong for Soo Lin, Brenna heard herself gasp. "Sherlock," she said, unconsciously considering the worst.

More gun shots filled the air. John, clearly torn between wanting to stay and protect the woman and between going to help Sherlock, finally made up his mind. "I have to help him. Brenna, stay here with Soo Lin. Bolt the door after me."

"John, be careful." Brenna called out to him as he raced for the main room of the museum. Brenna and Soo Lin sat huddled in the darkness, waiting for what felt like hours. Finally, an eerie silence seemed to settle over the museum. They heard nothing, nothing to indicate if Sherlock and John were safe or not.

At last, they crept forth from their hiding place, Brenna keeping too Lin behind her. "Is it safe?" Soo Lin asked, her voice still sounding small and frightened.

"I don't know." said Brenna, "I'll go make sure this room is secure, at least. Stay at this desk, and out of sight as much as possible."

Soo Lin nodded, and crouched by the desk, as Brenna inched out into the darkness. But she did not notice that Soo Lin silently reached up to the desk, to take hold of the cipher that Sherlock had showed her. Brenna scanned the darkness with eyes that had long been attuned to finding out threats where no one else would see them. A slightly shifting shadow, a breeze where there had once been silence. She had learned long ago that being able to detect such subtleties could very well mean the difference between success of failure, or in this case, life or death.

But in this instance, the spider was too clever for her. By the time Brenna sensed that something and whirled back to Soo Lin, she saw that she was too late. Zhi Zhou was standing right in front of Soo Lin. Though her face showed how terrified she was, there was still a strange light of hope there. She reached out a trembling hand and touched her brother's, speaking to him tenderly in Chinese, hoping that some part of her brother would still listen to her. But it was too late for Zhi Zhou. In his eyes, there was nothing but death for Soo Lin Yao.

Without thinking about her next move, she raced forward and tackled Zhi Zhou to the ground. "Soo Lin, run!" She screamed to the Chinese woman, before all her attention became focused on Zhi Zhou. Brenna may have known a few moves to defend herself, but she was not a fighter. Zhi Zhou was supple and lithe, and it didn't take him long to live up to the spider for which he was named and wriggle out of her grasp. He pushed her aside roughly and reached for his gun.

A sharp, deadly crack filled the air, and Soo Lin, who had been headed for the door, fell to the floor. Thinking that he had succeeded in killing his own sister, Zhi Zhou then turned his attention to Brenna. Apparently, his orders had been quite clear: no witnesses. Brenna scrambled backwards, but Zhi Zhou proved to be faster than her. He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back to him despite her struggles, and wiping that same white cord around her neck that he had used to strangle Sherlock.

Brenna felt her lungs burning as the cord stretched tighter and tighter, slowly crushing her windpipe. Black spots were beginning to appear in her vision, and as much as she didn't want to contemplate that this might be the end, it sure looked like she was going to die from lack of oxygen in the backroom of a museum in the middle of the night.

But, then, suddenly, Zhi Zhou's grip on her loosened, the cord went slack and she felt him release her and run away. Brenna had absolutely no idea why he was running when he was so closely finishing the job, but she certainly wasn't going to object. She began gasping and coughing, gulping in lungfuls of air. It was only then that she realized what had disturbed Zhi Zhou. She hadn't counted on Sherlock and John coming to her aid this fast. Sherlock immediately went to her, his heart leaping into his throat when he had seen her being attacked by Zhi Zhou. For a brief moment, he had forgotten everything about the case, and just had to make sure that Brenna was all right.

He raced to her side, and knelt by her, taking her by the shoulders and looking into her face. "Brenna, Brenna, are you all right?"

Brenna managed to get her breath back. "Yes, I think so."

He drew her into his arms, holding her close to him. "You idiot." He said, though he was actually smiling with ill-concealed relief. "You should have known better than to go up against a Chinese assassin."

Brenna smiled in Sherlock's arms. She knew what he was trying to say that he was glad that she was all right. Quite frankly, she would be willing to listen to a whole lot worse. But their relief was short lived, when they both remembered that Soo Lin had been shot, possibly fatally. They both looked towards the door, where John was desperately examining Soo Lin's body. Sensing their stare on him, he shook his head. "She's barely alive. We have to get to the hospital."

Sherlock and Brenna exchanged glances. They both knew that if Soo Lin died, their only chance of cracking the cipher and solving the case would die with her. They might be on the verge of another dead end.

* * *

Just in case anyone wonders, yes, I am going to have Soo Lin survive in this story. I personally liked her, and I don't see why everyone needs to die in the Sherlock series who isn't a regular cast member. Anyway, please read and review. They always get the wheels of my creativity rolling.

Next chapter: Brenna calls upon her friend at the morgue in order to get some proof of their progress for a still dubious Dimmock. However, in the process of doing so, Brenna will encounter a most interesting personage, a man who has had more of an impact on her past than she is aware, and who will come to play a dangerous role in her future.


	17. Book Codes

Book Codes:

In another two hours, Sherlock, Brenna, and John were standing in the police station, with Alice and Dimmock. The paramedics had taken Soo Lin to the hospital, and there was no word yet on whether she would pull through. There had been no indicators of who had broken into the museum. Zhi Zhou had left no fingerprints and the security cameras hadn't been able to get a clear image of his face. Had it not been for the open window he had come through, and the three eyewitnesses, Soo Lin might have seemed to have been attacked by a ghost.

As it was, they still had no real leads, or so Dimmock seemed to think, as he didn't seem very forthcoming.

John was starting to get angry at the young Detective Inspector. "How many murders is it going to take before you start believing that this maniac is out there? A young girl was gunned down tonight! She could die. Three victims in three days, you're supposed to be finding him."

Sherlock had a far better way of getting through to Dimmock. Swooping down on him like a hawk, he said, "Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang on international smugglers. A gang called the Black Lotus. Operating here in London. Right under your very nose."

"The Black Lotus?" said Alice, her face showing the same concern as Brenna had when she had first heard the name. "Brenna, are you sure?"

"Yes, Soo Lin Yao told us herself."

Dimmock looked at Sherlock and Brenna. The two of them seemed so certain, and Alice was unquestioning in her support. It was certainly the first real lead he had discovered in the case, and truth be told, he wasn't coming up with anything better on his own. However, a part of him still remained cautious. He would need something beyond the word of Sherlock Holmes to go on. "Can you prove that?"

Brenna and Sherlock exchanged glances, and smiled. "Actually, I think we can." Said Brenna, "Give me one hour."

* * *

Brenna had maintained a soft spot for Molly Hooper ever since she had met the shy, quiet morgue pathologist two and a half years before. Molly had grown a bit more confidant in the past few years; getting over her infatuation with Sherlock had definitely contributed to that. Strangely, she bore absolutely no grudge to Brenna. She seemed to know that she had never really had a chance with him, that it was simply better to move on than to pine for someone who didn't even seem to know that she existed half the time.

She was still an invaluable source of information inside Bart's Morgue, especially when it came to looking at the dead bodies of police cases. So, when Brenna called her to see if she and Sherlock could investigate the bodies of Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis, Molly was only to happy to help.

Brenna found her in the hospital canteen, just finishing off her plate of spaghetti. "Molly, hi."

Molly glanced up at her and smiled, "Hi, Brenna. I'll be done in a few minutes."

"Take your time. I'm glad you decided to go with the pasta instead of the pork chops. They looked more than unusually robbery tonight."

"I don't normally eat here, but I forgot to bring my lunch with me."

"Well, you are a doctor, so I suppose that you know the risks you're taking when you eat hospital food."

"I recall you once saying that the hospital food was a gourmet feast compared to what you had in prison." Molly blushed and coughed, obviously thinking that she had said the wrong thing. "I-I mean-"

Brenna laughed. "Molly, don't worry about it. I'm glad someone I know isn't afraid to make a little joke about my prison experience. And actually, you're quite right. Prison food is as bad as they say it is. Take my advice, and never get involved in a life of crime."

Molly looked a little more at ease. "I'll be sure to remember that."

At that moment, Brenna heard a voice calling from across the canteen. "Molly."

Molly looked at someone who was approaching from behind Brenna, and a big smile instantly grew on her face. "Jim."

Brenna turned around only to see a young man approaching the table where they were sitting. She guessed his age to be in his early 30', with short blank hair and dark brown eyes. He was of about middle height and build. He seemed to have a rather awkward, perhaps bumbling personality, but the look which he was giving Molly was nothing short of adoring.

And the feeling seemed to be mutual, if Molly's reaction was anything to go by. "Brenna, this is Jim. He started working in IT upstairs."

"It's nice to meet you."

"It's great to meet you. Molly has told me so much about you."

"Really?" said Brenna, glancing at Molly with a smile, "Should I be worried?"

"Oh, don't worry, she's told me nothing but the best."

"Well, that's a relief." Brenna looked a little closer at Jim, "This might sound funny, but I have the strangest feeling that I've seen you somewhere before."

Jim laughed. "You wouldn't believe how often I get that. I suppose I just have one of those faces."

Brenna really didn't pay any attention to this last comment in fact, she dismissed feeling of familiarity. In any case, it was far more interesting watching Jim's interaction with Molly. It seemed obvious that in Jim's eyes, Molly was the only person in the room "Are you finished with your break already? I was hoping to eat with you."

"Oh, well, I was just going back to work."

"But, it shouldn't take to long." said Brenna, quickly, "She would be able to stop back in for a few minutes to chat."

"Yes, yes, definitely. I'll do that." said Molly, who seemed grateful for Brenna's help.

"Oh, great, I'll be waiting for you then." Said Jim, with a smile, "It was a nice meeting you, Brenna. I'll see you later, Molly."

Brenna looked after Jim. "Are you two-?"

"Oh, um, no." said Molly, with a small blush.

"Well, you should really give it a try. Jim is clearly smitten with you."

"Really, you think so?"

"Oh yes, it was quite obvious." Said Brenna, with a little smile. "Jim seems quite nice enough, and you deserve someone like that. Come one, I'm sure that Sherlock is here by now, and you know as well as I do, how much he hates to be kept waiting."

* * *

Sherlock's proof was more or less conclusive: on the right foot of both Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon was the same mark of the Back Lotus that Soo Lin Yao had also had. That seemed to be enough to prove Sherlock's point that the smuggling ring was active in London. In exchange for that information, Dimmock seemed willing to finally begin working with Sherlock; so when the consulting detective demanded the acquisition of all of the books from Lukis' and Van Coon's books, Dimmock compiled with the odd request, grudgingly perhaps, but without further complaint.

By the time the three of them got back to flat, it was late. John was obviously shaken by the near death of Soo Lin Yao. "It's not just a criminal network." Said Sherlock, "It's a cult. Her brother's been corrupted by one of its leaders."

"Soo Lin said the name…" said John.

"Yes, Shan." Said Brenna, who was as sober as John, "Poor girl, probably had no idea what se was getting into at the time. She was Lucky to have gotten out when she did. Had this robbery not taken place, they might have left her alone."

John looked at Brenna. "You said that you were a smuggler once?"

"Yes, though nor drugs or weapons. It was paintings with me, jewels, that sort of thing."

"How did you manage to avoid getting involved in something like that?"

"It was very careful, and rather lucky, I suppose. I valued my independence, and I had already seen others likes me, who might have been even better than me, become ensnared in things that were simply to big for them. I was determined that would never happen to me."

"Well, either way," said John, rather despondently. "We're no closer to finding them now."

"Wrong. We have almost all there is to know." Sherlock said, "She gave us most of the missing pieces. Why would he go and see his sister? Why would he need her expertise?"

"She worked at the museum." Said John.

"Exactly."

"An expert in antiquities…" said John, "Ah, of course, I see."

"That's where this whole case started for me." said Brenna, "Valuable antiquities from China have been turning up at auction houses all over London in the past few months. They've most likely been sold on the black market. China's home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mau's revolution."

"The Black Lotus is selling them." John realized.

"And you say that they're all been in the last few weeks?" said Sherlock.

"Yes."

Seized by a sudden idea, Sherlock grabbed John's computer and search for _Chinese artifacts sold at auction_. Immediately, numerous hits came up. It was the same layout as Brenna had seen a few days ago at the Yard. All of them antiquities from China, all of them from anonymous donors. Sherlock finally settled on a picture of Ming vases, which had been sold just a few days before.

"Check the dates. Look." Said Sherlock, "Arrived from China a week ago. Anonymous. The vendor doesn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East."

"One in Lukis' suitcase and one in Van Coon's." said John.

They continued to scan through more of the antiquities. A Chinese ceramic statue worth four hundred thousand, a Chinese painting that went for half a million, more and more the items came, all of them from an anonymous source.

"They're stealing them back in China and one by one they're feeding them into Britain." Said Sherlock.

John had been comparing the dates of auction to the dates in Lukis' and Van Coon's travel itineraries. "Every single auction coincides with Eddie or Brian Lukis traveling to China."

"So, if one of those men was greedy, when they were China, if they stole something…" said Sherlock.

"That's why he's come." Said John.

"So, all we need to do is figure out whatever was stolen." Said Brenna, "Which leads us back to the cipher."

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door. "Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?"

"What?"

"A young man's outside with crates of books."

It was the promised delivery of the books from Lukis and Van Coon's apartment. And there were a lot of them. The constables were fifteen minutes bringing them up and by the time they had finished, there was hardly a place to stand in the entire flat.

Sherlock had already deduced that the numbers of the cipher corresponded to page numbers and specific words on the pages. Unfortunately, there was a veritable sea of books on both sides to go through each and every book in each and every crate. It would probably take them all night

Dimmock came into the room, returning the pieces of the cipher that they had found at the crime scene. As all three of them were somewhat absorbed in the current scavenger hunt, they didn't look at it all that closely.

About half way through the night, Brenna noticed that John was looking exhausted. She told him to get some sleep; she would call him if they found anything. Of course, considering Sherlock's already frustrated look, she had a feeling that wouldn't happen. It looked it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

So, it seems that Brenna has encountered this Jim from IT at some point in the past. We all know who im really is, of course, so this could lead to some interesting events in the future. Anyway, be sure to tell me what you think. I always love hearing what you think.

Next chapter: the thing that I think a lot of people have been waiting for: FLUFF! also known as, what Sherlock doesn't know about karma sutras, flirting and dating could fill several large volumes.


	18. Karmma Sutras, Flirting, and Dating

Here is a nice fluffy chapter, taking a break from all of the codes and murder. Enjoy!

Karma Sutras, Flirting and Dating:

Dawn found Baker St. in much the same state. No progress had been made by the time John had left for his first day of work at the surgery, and as the hours dragged on, it didn't seem like the pattern would be changing. Brenna could tell that Sherlock was growing increasingly frustrated. She really wasn't having much lick herself. She knew that she was scraping the bottom of the barrel when she looked in the book that she was certain wouldn't be of any real use to them, but still wanting to be sure, she had made the mistake of peeking inside and had instantly regretted it.

"You know, Sherlock, we probably need to take a break. We've been going at it for awhile."

"Are you aware of the many different ways that statement could be taken?"

"Yes, but I don't really care right now."

Sherlock glanced at her. "What was in that last book which offended you so much?"

'What?"

"That last book. You opened it for all of half a second, then shut it again just as quickly, burying it back in the box with a disgusted look on your face. It must have been something serious as you didn't even attempt to look up the word properly."

"Oh, I did, and believe me, Sherlock, that's not the word or the book we're looking for."

"How do you know?"

"Because I highly doubt that the word orgasm is one that has anything to do with a Chinese, acrobatic serial killer."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Orgasm?"

"Yes, Sherlock, orgasm. It's what happen in sex when-"

"I am perfectly aware of what it means. But what kind of book would have that as the first word on the fifteenth page?"

"The Karma Sutra apparently." She noticed that Sherlock was looking at her in a rather confused manner. "You don't know what the Karma Sutra is, do you?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Should I? Is it of any relevance?"

Sherlock's brilliant mind had a rather interesting side effect. Though he seemed to have a limitless supply of knowledge on the most obscure subjects, sometimes it meant that things which were common knowledge to most people he had no idea about. She had heard him confess that he had no idea who the current Prime Minister was, or who people were talking about when they referenced Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt. All aspects of popular culture he was ignorant of. It was perhaps no surprise that something like the Karma Sutra should have fallen through the cracks. "You wouldn't think so, I'm sure. It's an ancient Hindu sex manual."

Sherlock looked at her for several seconds, as if trying to determine if she were kidding. "You're right. That's not anything that would be of use to me. Why did you put it away as though it were on fire?"

"It has pictures."

"Really, I assume that they're of a graphic nature?"

"Pornographic might be a better term."

"You're normally quite liberal in matters of sexual license, I'm surprised you don't approve."

"Sherlock, I'm not a prude, but even I need or want to see pictures of random people having sex. It doesn't really do a lot to get me in the mood." She noticed that Sherlock looked more than a little tense. She had seen him taking books from his own shelves and looking through them in an increasingly futile and frustrating quest to find the right word. She went over to him, saying, "But I do think that we need to take a break, Sherlock. You're not going to help yourself by working your mind in circles. You're the one who is always saying that."

Sherlock huffed. "It's here, somewhere. I know it is. I feel like its right in front of me. But I can't tell where it is."

Brenna reached out and began to gently massage Sherlock's back. She heard him sigh, and felt him lean into almost unconsciously into her touch. He clearly wanted her to continue, though he might not have said it. "You just need to relax, Sherlock. You won't find anything if you're so worked up you can't even see it."

Sherlock would have liked to answer her in his usual deductive manner. However, he found that he himself was focusing more on the way that his fingers were working the sore muscles in is back. He had unconsciously leaned into her touch, and in doing so, it brought him closer to her body. He could feel her heat; he wanted her to come closer, much, much closer.

He suddenly realized what he was thinking. What was he doing? He was right in the middle of a case, right on the verge of a breakthrough. He should be focusing on the facts, not on how wonderful it felt to have Brenna touching in such an intimate way.

He abruptly turned around and grabbed Brenna by the wrists. "Stop that."

Brenna was a little confused, as she obviously didn't realize at first what she had aroused in Sherlock. "Stop what?"

"Touching me like that."

"Oh, that? Why should I stop you seemed to be enjoying it." She finally realized what Sherlock was implying, only instead of it making her back away; it only made her smile in such a manner that it reminded him of a very self-satisfied cat, and she took a step closer to him. "Was it bothering you?"

Sherlock first and immediate reaction was to say no, it hadn't bothered him. In fact, he would very much like to drop everything, pin Brenna against the fireplace and snog her for at least a good five minutes. But, Sherlock had never been one to react on his first instinct. "Yes, it was bothering me. In case, you haven't noticed, the two of us are on a case." He took a step back to try and put some space between them. However, he had underestimated the amount of space that he had to maneuver and brushed up against the desk.

This turn of events only allowed Brenna to step up to him and essentially pin him there. "Oh, I'm so sorry." She definitely did not sound sorry. That smirk playing across her face, the mischievous glance in her eyes. Sherlock knew exactly what she was trying to get to do. "Here, let me try and make it up to you."

She reached up on tip toe, put her arms around Sherlock's shoulders and began to kiss his neck. For a moment, his eyes rolled up in his head, his hands went around her waist and pulled her closer. His heartbeat immediately started going faster, and the endorphins of arousal began pounding through his bloodstream.

Still, at this junction, a part of his mind was really battling to keep up the pretence of logic. "Brenna, you are aware that this is incredibly delicate work. Distraction isn't going to help us find the answer to this." The last word came out sounding more like a strangled groan of pleasure as Brenna's teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

Brenna paused in her mission breaking down Sherlock's defenses just long enough to give him a seductive smile. "You know, Sherlock, you have to learn to lighten up on occasion. You've probably been thinking about this too much. Take a few minutes to focus on something else."

"Like you?

"Why? Is that so hard?"

That was not a difficult question to answer. He was beginning to realize that he couldn't focus on anything but her. Not only were his eyes drinking in her face, but his hands were caressing her skin trough the material of her shirt, and gaining a deceive sense of satisfaction from the shivers he could feel skating up her spine. He could smell that distinctive scent of mingled cocoanut shampoo and vanilla lotion that she wore, along with something that was just distinctly Brenna. He was beginning to be absorbed by her, and he found that he was not actually all that averse to it.

Brenna didn't actually need to hear him answer her. It was quite enough to see the look on his face to know that she had won. She reached up and pressed her lips to his. When Brenna kissed him, any logical objections that Sherlock might have had were silenced. In fact, the greater part of his brain shut down completely, and the only part that was active was only focusing on the blissful sensations that Brenna's physical presence unleashed in his own body. His attitudes towards sex were rather unique. He was hardly innocent. He was well aware of the bodily mechanics involved. On the purely physical, theoretical process, he was an expert. When it came to anything that was on the emotional side, though, he always felt himself somewhat clueless and unprepared. Brenna always seemed to be the one who initiated this type of sensuous flirting. He had once thought that such displays were a frivolous waste of time. But when Brenna did it to him, it was incredibly difficult for him to remember that.

They were literally so absorbed in each other that they didn't even know they were no longer alone, until they heard John's rather awkward cough from the doorway and his subsequent hesitant question. "Am I interrupting something?"

Sherlock was completely startled by John's sudden appearance, but Brenna seemed to take it all in stride. She stepped away from Sherlock and said, as if nothing out of the ordinary, "Of course not, John. Why would you think that?"

John looked from her to Sherlock. "I don't know, you looked like you were snogging with your tongues down each other's throats?"

"You mean while we're supposed to be working on a case? John, we are a bit more professional than that?"

Jon raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Really?"

Sherlock had been left momentarily speechless and bemused by Brenna's behavior. His heart was racing, his head felt light, and is body was deeply regretful that John had interrupted them when he did. This was why he avoided all physical and emotional contact. They were to distracting when he needed all of his facilities to think. He would have avoided the entire thing a long time ago, but Brenna was too difficult or him to ignore, and he would have been lying if he said a part of him didn't enjoy it immensely.

However, he wasn't about to let John know that Brenna had managed to push him into an emotionally and physically aroused state. "I need some air, we're going out tonight." He said, rather abruptly, as if trying to steer the conversation into an altogether different direction.

"We, Sherlock?" inquired Brenna, "Aren't you going to ask if I want to of with you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Do you want to spend time with me tonight?" he asked, exaggerating the level of politeness required.

Brenna grinned. "What a silly question. Of course I do."

"Actually, I've got a date." Said John, with a happy grin.

"What?" said Sherlock, obviously confused.

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun."

"That's what I was suggesting."

"No, it wasn't. At least, I hope not."

"So, John, you have a date?" said Brenna, with a smile, "Congratulations, I was wondering when it would happen. No wonder you were so excited about that job."

"Dating someone at the office, it never ends well." muttered Sherlock.

"Sherlock," said Brenna, "Be quiet before I have to duck tape your mouth shut."

John was really too good a mood to be bothered by Sherlock's ill-timed criticisms, a feat in and of itself. "Her name is Sarah." said John, more addressing Brenna then Sherlock, "She's a doctor down at the surgery. She's nice, we seemed to hit it off."

"Where are you taking her?" Sherlock asked.

"Cinema."

"Boring, dull, predictable." Said Sherlock, "You should try this." He went over to John and handed him something that looked faintly familiar to Brenna, "In London, for one night only."

John looked at the piece of paper in his hand and laughed skeptically, "Thanks, but I don't come to your for dating advice."

Wanting to know what Sherlock was up to, Brenna got up from her chair and walked over to John, saying as she did so "Smart move, John. Sherlock doesn't really know anything about dating since he's never actually taken me on one."

Sherlock looked at Brenna. "Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have."

"Believe me, Sherlock, you haven't." She had managed to get a glimpse of the poster fragment that he had given John. It read _The Yellow Dragon Circus_. Brenna remembered now the poster from the train station, the one that had seemed to capture Sherlock's attention. Now, she knew why, and when she recalled what had been written on that poster, she knew what Sherlock was planning. "However, that being said, this may not be a bad idea."

John looked at her. "Really? You think so?"

"Yes, these circuses can be quite extraordinary. Far more entertaining than the ones which use animals. I think that Sarah might actually enjoy herself a great deal."

John seemed to think about this for a moment, before she finally said, "Well, all right, I'll think about it."

"Good." Said Brenna, with a smile. As John left the room to get ready for that evening, she glanced at Sherlock. "I certainly hope that you're not going to ruin John's evening."

"I didn't see you trying to talk I'm out of it." Sherlock pointed out, "If that circus really is the cover for the Black Lotus in London, it could be the only chance that we have to find something."

"Well, I'm not letting you go alone." Said Brenna, "I'm coming with you. How lovely, we can double date with John and Sarah. I have an idea that it will be mixing oil and water."

"Just the record, I have taken you on several dates."

"Sherlock, a date consists of more than just getting a Chinese on the way back from the morgue."

"So, you expect me to take you so someplace as normal and dull as the cinema?"

Brenna rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You know, Sherlock, I am convinced that some part of your mind is secretly obsessed with the idea of boredom. You certainly seem to find yourself in that state of mind a great deal of the time. I think for an experiment, you should sometimes try things that most of us mere mortals consider to be normal. You might find that it's not a bad place to visit every once and awhile."

"Considering that I was ready to indulge you on the subject of normalcy." Said Sherlock, "What would then constitute a real date?"

"Something that involved a little more effort and planning on your part than simply eating as an afterthought. It wouldn't even have to involve going to the cinema. It's just something simple that both of us could enjoy."

"And we've never done anything like that?" said Sherlock, after a moment.

"No, we haven't, Sherlock."

"And it bothers you that we've never gone on a real date."

"No, of course, it doesn't. And besides, if I thought you were normal, do you honestly think that I would have been attracted to you?"

Sherlock smiled at her. "Most likely not."

"So, given that, aren't you going to call the Yellow Dragon circus and get two tickets for you and me?"

"Well, far be it from me to forget such a small detail."

"Yes, with you, this is a typical date."

* * *

Please read and review.

Next chapter: Actually, Sherlock and Brenna had gone on sort of a pseudo date before. It was the night when they tried to nab a muderer and a jewel thief. However, what begins as a stakeoue will lead into an interesting revelation for them both, and will lay the groundwork for their future relationship.


	19. Stakeout

Here is the next chapter of A Thief's Mystery. It is a little long, but it also contains a lot of ground work for Brenna and Sherlock future relationship. Just so everyone knows, I am thinking of the restaurant and Angelo from the orginal pilot of A Study in Pink for the setting in this chapter. I just liked that particular acotr better than the one they used for the later episode. Enjoy.

Flashback VII: Stakeout:

Sherlock was admittedly not looking forward to the stakeout that Brenna and he had set up. He wasn't sure what he was dreading more, that he would have to endure an evening with another human being when he was sure he could do better on his own or that Brenna had gotten the idea before him. However, there was little that he could do, and as it was the best plan to catching the killer, he knew that he had to go along with it.

He had arranged the location for the stakeout, however. The restaurant owned by Angelo, a man who owed him more than a few personal favors. As he arrived that night, he saw Brenna stepping out of a laundry truck that was parked a few doors from the restaurant. "You might want to tell your cohorts that if they're trying to act unnoticeable, they should do a better job of it. Laundry trucks aren't a common sight in this side of London."

"Well, no one every accused the Yard of being creative. You know that they have to do things within the rules and laws. It's why they're able to do what they're able to do. Shall we?"

The restaurant was a small affair; Brenna thought that it probably wouldn't be able to hold anymore than fifty people. All the same, it had a certain homey, comfortable atmosphere, with dark wood paneling and candles on all the tables. There were few people in the restaurant, but all the same, Sherlock went straight to a table that had a reserved sign on it. "Right here." said Sherlock, "It should give us a god view of the street."

"But this table is reserved." Brenna pointed out.

"Of course, it's reserved for me."

Before Brenna could ask how that was even possible, Brenna saw a man approaching them. He was in his forties, with the dark skin and bright twining eyes which showed him to be of Italian descent. Brenna assumed that he must be the owner of the establishment. When he caught sight of Sherlock, his face burst into a smile and he approached them. "Sherlock, it's so wonderful to see you. It's been awhile since I've seen you around this area."

It was the most enthusiastic greeting that Brenna had seen anyone give Sherlock, not to mention the most warm-hearted. Angelo even went so far as to throw his arms around Sherlock in a big hug, a move which caused Sherlock to stiffen, though he didn't necessarily make any move to push Angelo away. It was only after this, that Angelo turned his gaze on Brenna. "Oh, and who's this? This has got to be the first time that you've brought a date here, Sherlock."

"Oh, we're not-" Brenna tried, but Angelo continued right on.

"Angelo." He grabbed Brenna by the hand, and shook it with such force that Brenna though for a second that her shoulder would be dislocated. "I can't tell you what an honor it is to meet you." He turned to Sherlock and said, "Remember, Sherlock. Anything you want on the menu is free and I'll cook it myself."

"Thank you, Angelo." Said Sherlock, actually sounding civil for a change.

As Brenna sat down beside him, the waiter came around to give them their menus, and she took the opportunity to order a glass of red wine. She then proceeded to look at the menu. Of course, Sherlock felt a need to comment on this.

"I wouldn't waste time with the dessert page if I were you." said Sherlock. "They're not all their good at it, unfortunately."

"I beg your pardon? I'm not even looking at the dessert page on this menu."

"You happened to glance at it before you looked at anything else. You always look at the dessert page first."

"How do you know that?"

"Any woman who keeps a full bowl of chocolates on their kitchen counter is a good indication that they consider chocolate to be the fifth food group."

"And you're trying to tell me that it's not?" said Brenna.

"I should be telling you that you won't be able to attract a member of the opposite sex if you continue to indulge in that particular obsession of yours." Said Sherlock, "You're figure isn't the type that most men consider as ideal."

Brenna cut Sherlock a cold glare. "How charming. Tell me, Mr. Holmes, are you always so courteous on these first dates, or is it just because I'm special?"

"This isn't a date."

"Believe me, I am painfully aware of that. So, let's just leave any comments about my body off the agenda, all right? You don't really have any right to criticize me if we're not even going to be seeing each other after this case is over. Agreed?" The waiter came around to bring Brenna her glass of wine, and she thought the conversation done. But Sherlock was still pressing the point.

"I was merely saying that if you ever wish to attract a member of the opposite sex, you won't be able to rely on your looks for that wish."

Brenna looked at Sherlock for several seconds, totally in disbelief. She had had enough of this egotistical consulting detective going around lording his superior talents over everyone, and thinking that he could get away with it unscathed. She thought it was high time that happened, and she should be the one to do it. Shifting her position ever so slightly, she "accidently" nudged her glass of wine a little to far to the wrong side, and it ended up spilling all over Sherlock.

Sherlock immediately pushed his chair back, staring at the mess staining his shirt with utter surprise. "Oh, I'm so sorry." Said Brenna, with sweet innocence, "I can't imagine what got into me." She gestured to the waiter to bring them some more napkins. "Still, you're going to have a little bit of trouble getting that out."

As the waiter came by with some more napkins and Sherlock proceeded to try and wipe off the liquid from his shirt, he gave her a glare. "You did that on purpose."

Brenna looked at him archly, "Let it be a lesson to you, to never cross a woman. They will always find a way to get back at you. Keep that mouth of yours shut, Sherlock. Or next time it won't be the wine, it will be the main course. Seeing as I ordered the spaghetti, I would hate to see where that goes."

Sherlock glared at her for a very long time. It wasn't the fact that there was wine all over his shirt; it was more the fact that he hadn't even seen it coming. He was normally so good at predicting whatever people would do, but this woman… she was going to drive him insane. Only knowing her a week and she did the unexpected more than what was expected, and he was always caught off guard when she did. He didn't like that. He liked being in control. It seemed that with Brenna, he was going to have to learn to share it. He merely nodded, and leaned back in his chair. "As you wish, Miss Ryan."

The two of them sat in frosty silence until Brenna's food came. Angelo himself delivered it, and seemed totally oblivious to atmosphere. Perhaps he was so happy to see Sherlock come here with a date that he was willing to see whatever he wanted to see. However, it did remind Brenna that this was a stake out, and therefore, they had to keep up the charade. "You know, Sherlock, while we're here, we might as well discuss something, if only to keep up appearances. After all, we are supposed to be one some sort of date. We have to keep up the appearance of being congenial."

"You were the one who completely cut off all communication by implying that everything that came out of my mouth was offensive to you."

Brenna rolled her eyes. "Not everything that you have said offends me. We just need to avoid talking about anything of a romantic nature."

Sherlock considered this, and then decided that Brenna had proven herself to be of a nominally above average intelligence, and it may not be a waste of time to talk with her a little bit. "Fine, what shall we talk about?"

"What about you? How did you decide to become a consulting detective? I imagine that is a rather difficult thing to study for."

"I didn't study for it." said Sherlock, "I invented the job myself. I'm the only one in the world."

"Somehow, coming from you, that doesn't really surprise me. So, what is it exactly that you do?"

"I consult the police when they are out of their depth, which is always."

"That's rather a harsh pronouncement."

"Why not? You've met them, how competent to do you think that they are?"

"Some of them might fit your description, Sherlock." Brenna conceded. She should speak from experience. She had managed to avoid the authorities of various governments for four years. "However, give them enough time, and there are a few that must rise above your description. Surely, they don't need your advice for every case they work."

"Only for the more unique murders which London is plagued with. Of course, I do entertain clients on my own, as long the problems which they bring me aren't to boring."

Brenna wasn't sure if she wanted to know what Sherlock's definition of exciting was. "Tell me, how did you know that Bennett and Lestrade were brother and sister? They keep their personal connection rather close within the department. I don't know how many people actually know about it."

"It's quite simple, really. If you know what it is you should be looking for. Both of them have the same color and shape of eyes. The inflection of their accent in their voice is also indicative of a very close connection. Beyond that, the bone structure along their cheekbones and foreheads are also too alike for them to be anything other than brother and sister."

"I see, impressive. So, you observe the little things in life and from that, you have some idea about how the world operates."

Sherlock was surprised. It was the first time that anyone had even come close to guessing how he looked at the world. "Yes, in simplistic terms, I suppose that would be an accurate description."

Brenna nodded. "Well, from the time that I've spent with you, I can see that your growing reputation in the police force is not unfounded, in more ways than one. I can honestly say that I never have met anyone like you, and believe me, I have met some interesting people during my lifetime. Can you read everyone so easily, even strangers, people you pass on the street?"

"I don't make it a point to study every person that I encounter in that much detail, but I do tend to see the world and the people in it in much more detail than others. You wouldn't believe how many sordid secrets people have to hide."

Brenna looked at him for a long time. "If you are so good at finding and revealing those secrets, I imagine that it must be hard for you to have many friends."

"I don't have friends." The statement was delivered with such frankness and complete absence of self pity that it seemed as though Sherlock didn't care in the least that he had no one to call his friend.

"I see." said Brenna. "You never feel lonely, then?"

Sherlock stared at her, an impenetrable mask had settled over his features, one that not even Brenna could see behind. "No, alone is what protects me. Other people would only distract me. Friendship and love are far too dangerous a disadvantage. It's not something that I ever plan to do for myself."

Brenna didn't know how exactly to respond to this. For a few minutes, she simply ate a few bites of her spaghetti and tried to process what Sherlock had told her. She would have said that Sherlock's answer pointed to an utterly heartless man, with no soul or empathy. And yet, for all that she didn't like Sherlock, she hadn't seen anything like that from him. He was a rude, inconsiderate, arrogant jerk, but that was a far cry from the psychopath that Sally Donavon had described him as. She was beginning to think that it was simply to difficult to judge Sherlock Holmes based solely on first impressions.

Finally, she tried to change the subject. "You know, I am curious. When you first met Shane, you managed to tell him the major highlights of his life story. That's not an easy thing to do with someone like him. He's a con man, his entire careers depends on being able to keep his secrets."

"What are you implying?"

"I'm just wondering, why haven't you tried to do the same thing with me?"

Sherlock looked at her. "Oh, but I already have. I simply haven't wasted my time to expound them to you because they aren't very interesting."

This surprised Brenna more than anything else she had heard that night. Sherlock knew all her secrets? How was that possible? Her whole life had been built around keeping secrets. How did Sherlock guess them all?

"You think that you know my entire life story?" she said, skeptically.

"You want me to prove it?" said Sherlock.

"Well, as long we're just sitting here with noting really to do…"

Sherlock looked at her closely, before he began to speak. "You have a great deal of experience in the world of crime. You also seem to have a very extensive knowledge of breaking into places, and getting people to tell you want without them even suspecting. You must have gone undercover more than once, which speaks of a dedication to duty that your superiors have noticed. However, it also means that you are very good at keeping secrets. That talent has come between you and your family, as held out from the pictures on your mantelpiece."

"My pictures?"

"Yes. The last one of your family all together was taken when you were about eighteen. There are many more with all of you younger, but none more recent than that. There was some sort of serious break in the family itself. You're obviously not on speaking terms with them but you still cherish the memories. That's why you still keep the pictures in a prominent place. You were particularly close to your father, as there are more pictures of the two of you together than any other family member. But he is dead, since there are no recent pictures of him. However, your sister still maintains regular contact. There was a picture of you taken at a musical event which was only playing in London for a limited engagement last moth. That means she's the only member of your family that is still close to you. You are used to keeping people at arm's length, but those relationships which you do have, you cherish."

Brenna was completely shocked. She just stared at Sherlock in open mouthed amazement. He had just told her everything about her life story. Everything that she was able to hide so well from the rest of the world; what was more, he had done it in a way that made absolute sense.

Sherlock looked back at her, waiting for the reaction of disbelief, the accusations of him being a freak. He didn't care if that's what she said, as everyone else said it. That merely meant that everyone was wrong. Why should that bother him? However, he received yet another surprise from Brenna when she smiled, and said, "Congratulations, Sherlock Holmes, you have managed to impress me."

"What?" said Sherlock.

"You've earned my respect, if nothing else. I can understand why Lestrade places such a great deal of faith in your gifts."

Sherlock had no idea how he was supposed to respond. Hardly anyone had ever reacted with admiration when he read them as he had just done Brenna. The mildest reaction that he got was normally mild annoyance, or at worst, hostility. But there was nothing like that at all in Brenna's face. "You were impressed? I was still under the impression that you didn't like me."

"Sherlock, I don't like you. But I have learned to recognize genius when I see it, and far be it from me to deny its due." She considered for a moment, and in looking back over what Sherlock had just been able to deduce about her, she said, "However, I think you might have misread one thing."

"What do you mean?"

"You think that I work for the police, that I've done so for awhile?"

"Of course."

Brenna found herself laughing. Sherlock stared at her, puzzled and confused. "Sherlock, you've got one thing wrong in your assessment about me. I don't work for the police, at least not in the way you think."

Before Sherlock could make any sort of reply to this, Brenna's phone suddenly buzzed. It was from Alice in the surveillance car outside. **We have movement. James is on his way in.**

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, his attention now focused on the case rather than on the irritating woman in front of him who seemed so capable of keeping secrets from him.

"It's James Ryder." Said Brenna, "Alice says that he's on the approach. He should be coming in here any minute."

"That should be him right now." said Sherlock, pointing to a young man with brown hair and eyes, who looked distinctly nervous and worried, who had just come into the restaurant.

"Show time." said Brenna, "Here's hoping that we can pull this off."

James evidently had no trouble picking them out as the people that he was supposed to meet. Going over to their table, he said, "Are the ones who have the carbuncles?"

"We might," said Brenna, "Or we might not. That all depends on what sort of answers you can give us." She indicated the chair opposite her. "Take a seat, Mr. Ryder. There's no reason to stand on ceremony."

James sat down, albeit with a great deal of reluctance. He looked at them both for a few seconds, and said, in a nervous tone, "How do you know my name?"

"I've heard a great deal about you." said Brenna, "Your heists have caused quite a stir on the circuit you know. It's not everyone who has the gumption to steal something like the beryl coronet and wave to the cameras while they're doing it."

"Or break into an upscale diamond emporium and do exactly the same thing." said Sherlock, "You and your colleagues have been very busy."

"You know my partners?" said James.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." said Brenna, "I ran into one of them at the party who was positively full of good things to say about you: one Lucy Parr."

James' eyes grew wide with shock when he heard mention Lucy's name. "You-you actually did talk to Lucy?"

"Yes, she seemed quite eager to talk about your heists. She was even bold enough to be wearing them on her person. It perhaps wasn't her best move. She seems to have disappeared and the jewels with her, until someone found them. All the work you put into to steal them seems to have gone to waste. Such a same, too. Your little threesome had such a flare to it."

As Sherlock listened to Brenna's words, he found that he was becoming increasingly impressed. Brenna was manipulating James into a place where he would make some kind of confession. She was playing upon two things that must have meant a great deal to him, his theft of the jewels and the connection he felt with his fellow thieves. While Sherlock normally found ordinary burglaries to be of the rather mundane category, he had worked a few cases that involved thefts of valuable paintings. He knew that, like serial killers, thieves who stole things that were supposedly impossible to steal loved having their exploits talked about just as much. Brenna was calling into question James' abilities as a thief, she was maneuvering him into uncertainty and a confession. It was a technique he had not thought would come so naturally to her, for she seemed to instinctively understand exactly what to say, as though she could read the mindset of a thief as well as her own.

And she was succeeding. James' entire manner was growing more and more desperate. However, what he said next was not what either he or Brenna had been expecting. "Look, I don't care what you want. You can keep the carbuncles for all I care. I just want to know where Lucy is. Just let her go. She can't be of any use to you now."

At these words, both Brenna and Sherlock exchanged looks. This was not what they had been expecting. James Ryder clearly had no idea what had happened to Lucy. He thought they were holding her captive, and that the jewels were what they were after. He had come here tonight, to make a plea. That meant that he was not their murderer. Immediately, Brenna's heart went out to him. He had lost everything in following a life of thievery, just like she had. She was not going to let him suffer the ultimate fate.

"James," she said, dropping her façade of a cool thief, and her tone becoming tinged with no small amount of compassion. James looked up at her, surprised by her use of his first name. "There is something that you need to know. Neither Sherlock nor I are here to blackmail you. We actually set up this whole evening for a very different purpose. You might be able to help us."

"What do you mean? You don't know where Lucy is?"

"She's dead." Said Sherlock, without preamble.

All the color drained from James' face, and he looked at Sherlock in horror. For several seconds, he didn't say anything. Brenna shot Sherlock a look. "Maybe you should have let me handle that." she said, in a low voice.

"Why? I was only stating facts. There is nothing that would have been gained from mincing around the issue."

"Only now you might have shocked him into silence. Well done." She turned back to James and said, "Yes, it's true. Lucy is dead. What's more, she was murdered. The jewels that we found at your hideout were fake. No doubt, whoever put them there was intending to frame you."

"Frame me?" said James, "You think that I murdered her. I loved her."

"People murder for love all the time." said Sherlock. "And if you didn't kill her, why were you staying in a separate hotel room for her?"

"That was because of an argument. We were arguing." James shook his head, and in his eyes there was an agony that broke Brenna's heart. Of course, Sherlock seemed completely unmoved. "I thought that Mary was starting to act a little strangely. She was hanging out with that slimy guy George Burnwell way to often for my liking. I knew that it couldn't end well. But Lucy wouldn't listen to me. She thought that I was being paranoid, and that I shouldn't be so distrustful of Mary. The last words that I ever said to her were words of anger. I should have been able to see her one last time, to say that I was sorry."

"Well, it won't do any good to her memory by losing yourself in self pity." Said Sherlock, "If you really want to honor her memory, you will tell us anything that you can about the night that she was murdered."

Brenna could hardly believe Sherlock's heartlessness and she was about to tell him to shut up, when to her surprise, James seemed to pull himself together and said, "You're right. I have to do something to help bring her justice. The night of the party, I didn't go because I knew that Lucy was going to be there. I was just sitting in our hotel room, trying to lose a little steam. Suddenly, I hear noises coming from the balcony. When I went to look, there was this guy standing there. He was all in black, even had a black ski mask on his head."

"Did you get an idea of how tall he was?" asked Sherlock.

"Tall? Well, he looked about 5'10''."

"Excellent. Judging by the footprints I was able to find at the crime scene, that would fit exactly with what I saw. Go on."

"I was pretty surprised to find him there, as you can imagine. I tried to stop him. We struggled, but he was a lot stronger then me. He threw me off to the side, and I must have been half dazed, because I wasn't able to stop him. He walked right to the spot where I had hid the beryl coronet, and he just took it. Before I could think to go after him, I heard a commotion from the hall way. It was the police. I wasn't sure if they were coming for me, but I wasn't going to stick around to find out. I ran, and I've been trying to get in contact with Mary and Lucy ever since, so that we could regroup. But they didn't return my calls. I know now why Lucy didn't call me, but I don't know why Mary didn't."

"I think that I do." said Brenna, remembering her phone call from Mary Holder a few days before, and a new suspicion beginning to form in her mind. "Does it not strike you as odd that your attacker didn't even need to search the room to find the jewels, or that he didn't ask you where they were? He must have already known where they were, and the only way he could do that is if someone tipped him off."

"You mean, you think Mary or Lucy-"

"Perhaps. It turns out that I have a little meeting planned with Mary Holder tomorrow. I wouldn't be surprised if George Burnwell happens to be there. If you were to see the man who attacked you again, will you be able to identify him?"

James looked into Brenna's eyes and the intense look there was all the answer that Brenna needed. "I may not have seen his face, but I saw his eyes. And I will never forget them as along as I live."

"You will have to give yourself up, you know that." said Brenna, "But if you help us your sentence might be shorter."

"I don't have much to lose anymore do I?" said James, sadly, "I might as well try to do something right for the sake of Lucy's memory."

* * *

A few minutes later, James was under arrest and being taken to Scotland Yard. Brenna and Sherlock were left to wrap up the final strings of their evening. "I have to say that this has been rather eventful." Said Brenna, "Hopefully, we can catch our killer within the next forty-right hours." She glanced at Sherlock, "You weren't so bad in there, you know. In fact, your unwillingness to stand on ceremony might have given us the information that we needed to break the case."

"I've often found that indulging peoples' grief in situations such as this yields very little results." Said Sherlock, "Shock them into remembering their greater responsibilities and they will be far more cooperative. However, I will say that you seemed to show a great deal of understanding for his plight."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a thief, and because of it, he has now lost everything in life that he valued. It seems to me that most people, especially those with a background in law enforcement, would not have been as understanding as I saw that you were."

"Well, perhaps I simply know is background better than most people would."

Sherlock looked at her. "Does this have anything with what you said before about not working with the police?"

"In a manner of speaking it does."

"What exactly did you mean?"

Brenna laughed and said, "You know, Sherlock, if you haven't figured it out by now, than it won't do me any good to tell you. Deduce me, if you can. That's what you do, isn't it?"

Sherlock found that he didn't have a good answer to that. And as much as it did annoy him, in a way, it also intrigued him. He had always been able to read people so easily. He had though Brenna would be easy to read, but it was almost exciting that there was one secret in one person's life that he could not guess so easily. And Brenna herself had to admit that it was refreshing to meet a person who could see right through her.

Of course, it would never lead to anything. But for one night, at least, they accepted each other as equals.

* * *

Of course the relationship wouldn't lead to anything, at least not for another few years. Anyway, hope that you all liked this story. Please, read and review.

Next chapter: As the mysteries, one past and another present speed towards their conclusions, Sherlock and Brenna finally discover the key towards breaking the ciphe. But their efforts may have come to late when people they care about are placed in danger.


	20. The Cipher Broken

The Cipher Broken:

_PRESENT DAY..._

To say that John was less than thrilled when Brenna and Sherlock showed up at the Yellow Dragon Circus with his date would have been an understatement. It was a guaranteed way for the evening to be ruined. He wondered that Sherlock couldn't give him one day off from the frenetic pace of their lives, so that he could get to know a girl he actually liked. Sherlock, in his usual thick-headed manner when it came to social clues, had no idea why John was so upset. Brenna felt like she was being forced to play referee between them.

As it turned out, the evening didn't yield as much information as Sherlock might have been hoping. They did encounter the Chinese performers who supposedly made up the Yellow Dragon Circus. Among them, one especially caught Brenna's eye, a middle aged Chinese woman who had seemed to be at the center of all the acts. She seemed like the one everyone else took orders from, even if it was not obvious to audience. Brenna, however, could tell the head of a crooked organization when she saw one, and she was certain that if the Black Lotus was in London, the Chinese woman would be at the center of it.

Unfortunately, they were not able to find much proof. Oh, she and Sherlock did manage to sneak back stage during one of the acts, and they were able to find the paint which had been used to paint the cipher all over town. But then they had to go and get attacked by another acrobat who had been lurking in the shadows. As he had a sword and Sherlock was armed with nothing but a can of the spray paint, it was a bit of an uneven fight, and it wasn't long before their attacker succeeded in pushing Sherlock through the curtain that separated the backstage area from the performance space.

This caused an instant commotion amongst both audience and the performers. Those who had been watching the circus started running for the exits, while John, in his typical manner whenever he saw his friend in danger, immediately ran over to help Sherlock beat off his attacker. But, it was Sarah who actually managed to save the day, beating up the Chinese acrobat with a stout piece of wood she had found lying nearby.

Naturally, this led to a break up in the evening activities. Though Sherlock called the police to check out the old theater, the Black Lotus were too fast and they had left no traces for the police to follow. This did not at all please Dimmock, who made it quite clear to them in no uncertain terms that his patience was running out. If they didn't make some sort of breakthrough in the case soon, then things might become very bad indeed.

They went back to Baker St. and Sherlock's mood had reached the point that it always came to in a case, where he was right on the edge of a breakthrough, but it was slipping from his grasp just he was about to reach for it.

Returning to Baker St. after the truncated visit to the police station, Sherlock was not in the most sociable of moods. "We need to find a hideout." He was speaking out loud to himself and to no one in particular. He went over to the pictures hanging about the mantelpiece, staring at them intently "Somewhere in this cipher."

A moment of somewhat awkward silence followed. Poor Sarah, though having held up rather well considering the somewhat bizarre circumstances of the evening, really still didn't have any idea of what was going on. "Right, I suppose I'll leave you to it then."

"Yes, it would be best if you would go." Said Sherlock.

"No, that's not necessary." Said John, at the same time, "He's kidding, please stay."

Sherlock looked as though he were about to object when Brenna elbowed him rather hard in the ribs. "Yes, stay, Sarah." she said, "I'm sure that Sherlock and I can find something to do."

Sherlock shot Brenna as exasperated look. He clearly would prefer it if Sarah promptly left, no doubt considering her presence to be an unnecessary nuisance. However, Brenna wasn't going to let him ruin John's evening any more than it already had been.

Sarah seemed slightly mystified by the mixed signals she was getting from everyone in room. "Is it just me or is anyone else starving?"

Sherlock muttered something, and Brenna tried to restrain herself from slapping Sherlock across the face. John went off, no doubt glad to have some sort of distraction, though Brenna wasn't sure what he would be able to find. She knew for a fact that there was hardly any food in the flat, not one that would be suitable to offer on a date.

Sherlock, entirely unaware of John's predicament, was already sitting down at his desk, pouring over the pictures of the cipher, trying to find some sort of pattern. Sarah, no doubt trying to make small talk, said, "This is what you and John do, you solve puzzles for a living."

Sherlock almost seemed offended. "Consulting detective."

Brenna looked at Sarah apologetically. "Sorry, he's rather sensitive about that."

Luckily for John and pretty much everyone else in the flat, Mrs. Hudson came up the steps, carrying a tray of food. She made a note to herself to put that woman up for sainthood. Now, if she could just get Sherlock out of the flat for a few hours, maybe John could salvage something of his weekend with Sarah.

Sarah was leaning over the desk, staring at Sherlock's writing. "What are those scribbles?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "They're numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."

Sherlock's condescending tone of voice caused Sarah to respond sarcastically, "Oh right, I should have gotten that right away."

"All the symbols are paired." Said Brenna, "We're trying to figure out what the code is."

Sarah had pulled the plastic bag from the heap on Sherlock's desk. It was the same plastic bag that Dimmock had given John from the museum. For a moment, she studied them, before she said, "Well, each pair of numbers is a word?"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, then Sherlock seemed to take an intense interest in Sarah for the first time. "How did you know?"

"Two words are already translated. Here, look."

She showed Sherlock the page and sure enough, underneath the first two pairs of symbols was the words _nine mill,_ written in Soo Lin's handwriting.

Sherlock stared at the page for a moment, before he shouted excitedly. "John, Brenna, Soo Lin at the museum, she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it, _nine mill_."

"As in Nine million?" said Brenna.

"Nine million quid…" said Sherlock, "For what? We need the end of the sentence."

He jumped to his feet and hurried to the door to start putting on his coat. "Where are you going?" asked John.

"To the museum. The Restoration Room, we must have been staring straight at it."

"What?"

"The book, John, the book. The key to cracking the cipher! Soo Lin used it to do this whilst you and I were running around the galleries she started to translate the code. That book is in her office. Come on!"

Brenna barely had time to grab her coat and give a hurried farewell before scrambling after Sherlock. Se was almost relieved. She wasn't sure if she could have tolerated an entire evening with the kind of atmosphere she had experienced for the last five minutes. She could already tell that she shouldn't plan on any more double dates with John. It would only end in disaster.

As Brenna came down the steps, she just saw Sherlock practically bolted out the door, intending to call for the nearest cab. Unfortunately, he ran straight into a couple of German tourists, making them drop their guidebook and forcing Sherlock to hand it back to them with hurried apologies. This action meant that he missed the cab he had been aiming for. Brenna came out just in time to catch the later part of the scene, and Sherlock's evident frustration. "Sherlock, calm down." said Brenna, as she finally managed to join him.

"You expect me to calm down when we're this close to breaking the cipher?" he asked, incredulously.

"We're not going to get anywhere, if you dash headlong into things."

Sherlock was about to respond when suddenly his keen gaze caught something across the street. It was yet two more tourists, holding the book _London to A to Z_ between them. That was the same book that had been in Van Coon's flat on the table, Lukis' flat on the stairs, and at the museum on Soo Lin's desk; the one book that they all had in common, and Sherlock suddenly knew it. "Of course," he breathed, his earlier frustration vanishing instantly, and excitement growing in its place. "A book that everyone would own."

"Sherlock?" Brenna didn't know what Sherlock had just deduced, but she knew when he made a breakthrough.

Without answering, Sherlock turned and ran after the German couple, shouting to get their attention. Brenna hurried after him, and got there just as Sherlock yanked _The London A to Z_ out of the man's hand. This, naturally, did not really endear Sherlock to the couple, and Brenna managed to prevent some sort of international incident when she stepped in and told the couple that it was all right, they were the police. Brenna was fluent in Italian, French, and German. Being a conwoman and traveling around the continent had meant that she had needed to be able to blend in. That was hard to do when one didn't know the language. At any rate, the Germans seemed to want nothing more to do with the two weirdly eccentric London people and so went on their way.

Sherlock noticed none of this, he was to busy flipping through the book. "Brenna, this is it." he said, excitedly, "_The London A to Z, _the book that the smugglers have been using."

"You're sure." Said Brenna.

Sherlock had turned to page 15, and sure enough, the first entry was the word _Dead Man_.

"Dead man." Said Sherlock, all of the pieces finally falling into place. "You were threatening them." he shoved the book into Brenna's hands, and dug out the copy of the cipher that he had put into his coat. "Here, tell me the numbers on the cipher. We don't have any time to lose."

For the next few minutes, the two of them worked hurriedly to decode the cipher. After searching for the key for days, the cipher became clear in less than ten minutes. When all the words were revealed, the message read: _Nine mill for jade pin. Dragon hideout, black tramway_.

"We've made a double breakthrough." Said Brenna, "We know what they're looking for."

"And more importantly, where the hideout is." said Sherlock. He grabbed Brenna's hand, "Brenna, come on. We need to get John."

The two ran back to 221B. Sherlock took the stairs two at a time, shouting excitedly as he went, "John, the cipher, I've found it. The book! It's the _London A to Z_ that they were using."

However, the whole of Sherlock's speech was met with ominous silence. Brenna found that strange. She would have thought that John would have been irate that Sherlock had interrupted his date, again. But not even she could have imagined the worst. The flat was deserted, and when she came into the living room, she gasped with horror at the sight that greeted her. "Sherlock." She cried.

Sherlock saw it to, and his own heart suddenly began beating a little faster. On the windows were the familiar yellow paint and the cipher: _Dead man_.

"They took them." said Brenna, "They took John and Sarah. Why? What could they possibly have that they would want?"

"The smugglers must think we know more than we do." said Sherlock. "Either way, it doesn't matter. I think that's its safe to assume that we know where they've been taken."

Sherlock was not one to allow himself to feel things, but that did not mean he was without emotion. Whether he had intended it or not, he had to come to rely upon John a lot more than as just a flatmate. He was becoming, by very small degrees, his friend. And now, the idea that he might be in danger leant an extra motivation to his normally frantic pace.

He hurried over to the bookshelves, and he pulled out a map of London. The black tramway was the same place where they had found the complete cipher. They both knew that they didn't have any time to spare. Once Sherlock had the route, they were both gone in an instant.

* * *

Please read and review.

Next chapter: The final confrontation for Brenna and Sherlock against the real culprits of the murder takes place, and Sherlock finally figures out just what Brenna's real secret is.


	21. Flashback VIII: Beginning

Beginning:  
The next day, the final stage in what Brenna hoped would be the final part of the case ensued. Mary Holder had instructed her to meet her at the same hotel where she knew George Burnwell was staying. That in and of itself struck both Alice and Brenna as a little suspicious. If all the rumors that they had heard about Mary and George being involved were true, this probably meant that they were now ready to move their relationship out of the shadows.

While waiting in the laundry truck for the appointed time to arrive, Alice said, "I really don't like this."

"Since when do you ever like this stage?" said Patrick, "You hate having undercover officers go alone o one of these things."

"Oh, are you worried about me? Said Brenna, "That makes me feel special, almost as if you consider me pat of the team."

"Of course I care. If anything should happen to you, it will reflect badly on me."

"Nice to see hat you take your oath of selfless duty and service so seriously." Brenna quipped wryly.

"We've got you covered on all fronts." Said Patrick, "We'll be able to hear every word that you say. Anything goes on, we can extract you and Holmes. And if it turns out that George Burnwell really did kill Lucy, we've got our witness right here to prove it." He pointed to the front of the truck, where James was sitting, two policemen guarding him. He looked utterly despondent. He had barely said two words after he had given his statement the night before. Brenna couldn't blame him. She knew how the bottom had fallen out of her world when she had been arrested. She was the only one who really understood what James was going through.

She moved over to him, ignoring the surprised glances of the other people in the truck. "Hey, how are you feeling?" she asked him.

James shook his head. "How do you think? My girlfriends dead, murdered. And I've probably been sold out by my best friend."

"Seems to me that answers everything."

"I don't even know why we got involved in this" James looked over at her. "It started out innocently enough. We just broke into a couple of jewelry stores, just to see if we could do it. Then, we started aiming for bigger and bigger heists. It was exciting, challenging."

"You felt like you could do something that the rest of the rest of the world couldn't." said Brenna, "That the heist was an art form in and of itself."

"Yes, that's exactly it. How did you even know?"

Brenna smiled ruefully. "I've been there, recently."

James seemed shocked. "You? You mean, you were…"

"Yes, I know. Hard to believe, right? I suppose I really do fit the vibe of the police after all. Truth is, I was out there a lot longer than you and the price I ended up having to pay was just as high."

"Did you lose someone, too?"

Brenna's eyes grew sad. "Yeah, I did. I lost my dad, I never even had the chance to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry. Was any of it worth it?"

Brenna shook her head. "Honestly, I'm sill trying to figure it out. I've seen things, experienced things, and been to places that I never would have had otherwise. But, was it worth losing everyone to me, always being on the run and having to look over my shoulder? I don't know. I can only say that it's part of my life, and I can't change either the good or the bad. But it can get better. Perhaps this was the very best thing that could have happened to you."

James was silent for a few minutes, and a few tears began to roll down his cheeks. "The only thing that I really wish, I wish that I could have told Lucy that I loved her one more time. I just hate to think that her last thoughts towards me were bitter."

"They weren't." said Brenna, "You know when I first met her at the party, she was all in praise of you and your talents. I think she still loved you very much."

James looked up at her. "Thank you." He said, softly, "That means a lot."

At the back of the van, Alice and Patrick were watching the two of them talk in low voices. "What do you suppose they're talking about?" said Patrick.

"It's probably not any of our business." Said Alice.

"Probably swapping height stories. What else could thieves have to talk about?"

"Maybe she's trying to give him some advice about turning his life around."

"Ha, that would be a laugh coming from Brenna."

Alice fixed Patrick with a penetrating look. "James Ryder just lost someone he loved. Brenna is helping him through it because she's the only one who knows what that is like. Just because people might earn their living on the shadier side of the street doesn't mean that they are immune to human feelings. And I can tell you this, Brenna is quite possibly one of the most compassionate people I have ever met. Perhaps it's time that you stopped looking at her as an inconvenience and more of a person. You might be glad that you did."

Alice wasn't dubbed the Iron Lady for noting. In light of her passionate defense, Patrick could give no answer and lapsed into silence. A moment later, Brenna came back from the front of the truck, saying, "I just got a text from Sherlock, he's in the lobby."

"In that case, good luck." Said Alice, "Here's hoping your acting skills can work just as well in catching a killer as in being a thief."

"Yeah, good luck, Brenna." Said Patrick, almost unexpectedly.

Both Brenna and Alice looked at him in surprise. It was the first time that he had had a good word for Brenna since she had joined the force. "Uh, thank you, Patrick." Said Brenna, after a moment, before she hopped out of the truck and shut the door.

When she was gone, Alice looked at Patrick, with a half smile. "There, was that so hard?"

"Well, she has been a big help to this case." said Patrick, trying to look overly busy with the sound equipment.

* * *

Brenna walked into the hotel lobby, and soon spotted Sherlock's tall figure amidst the customers milling around in the lobby. "You actually waited for me?" she said, as she came up to him, "I'm surprised."

"Why should you be?" said Sherlock, "You said that you wanted me to treat you as a partner in this case. Isn't this what partners do, even temporary ones?"

"Well, yes. I suppose that I just didn't expect you to actually listen to me."

"I do listen to people on occasion, Brenna, if they have anything worth saying. Even you must agree that is a rare occurrence."

Brenna wasn't actually sure if that was necessarily correct, but she wasn't about to dispute it. Sherlock was cooperating after all; she didn't really want to push her luck. "Fine, thank you. I suppose you know what we have to do?"

"Trap Burnwell and Holder in incriminating themselves?"

"Yes, the simplified version. I doubt that it will be as straight forward as that."

"Nonsense. Just play your part, and it will all come out. Speaking of which who do you want me to be?"

"You're Regina King, world famous jewelry thief. What part do you want me to play?"

Brenna looked at Sherlock. He actually seemed quite eager to assume a part, which surprised her. "You're Trevor Hoskins." She said, as they went towards the elevator. "You're a scout. You come to a place beforehand that we're going to stage a heist at and learn everything that you can about it. Number and location of guards, alarm systems, camera, that sort of thing."

Sherlock actually seemed to be listening to and absorbing everything she said. He nodded, indicating that he understood. Brenna could only hope that he could play the role of a thief convincingly, or the whole operation could be blown.

George Burnwell was staying in one of the poshest suites in the hotel. There was a guard outside the door, who patted them down and took their cell phones. However, he left Brenna's brace alone. That would hopefully prove to be his biggest mistake.

They came into the main living room, and the guard who had brought them in, announced. "Sir, they're here."

George had been standing in front of an impressive antique desk in the main room, no doubt part of the overall décor of the room. He had been holding something in his hands, but when he heard the guard's announcement, he quickly put whatever he had been examining and admiring into the suitcase and closed it. Taking the time to secure the lock, he turned around and came towards them with a smile. "Miss King, thank you so much for accepting my invitation."

"I was under the impression that I was accepting the invitation of Miss Mary Holder." Said Brenna.

"Well, she may have placed the call, but it was a mutual decision between the two of us to call you." He gave Sherlock a once over. "And who is this?"

"Oh, a colleague of mine, a scout that I've worked with, Trevor Hoskins."

"Hoskins, eh?" said George, as he and Sherlock shook hands. "I don't think I've ever heard of you."

"I've mostly worked local." Said Sherlock, before Brenna could think up a good excuse. "The jobs I've worked have been mostly small. Jewelry stores, bank heists. Not much profit in them at all, hardly any challenge. I'm hoping to go bigger with Miss King."

Brenna had to struggle to hide her shock. Sherlock had completely changed his persona. His accent had lost its polished rhythms, growing rougher and more urban. He even seemed to move like the more experienced scouts she had known, eyes constantly shifting around the room, looking for any signs of weakness in the room. It was a subtle change, but one that seemed to make him a completely different person. She should probably add actor to Sherlock's seemingly endless list of accomplishments.

"I see." said George, who seemed to buy this without anymore difficulty. "I'm sure that Miss King would employ none but the best."

"You are correct, Mr. Burnwell." Said Brenna, "Now if you wouldn't mind, what exactly did you call me here for?"

"Ah yes, of course. Well, Mary should be here in just a moment. She'll be able to explain everything to your satisfaction."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Mary Holder herself entered the room. And her entrance prompted both Sherlock and Brenna to make separate, though still very important observations. Sherlock saw that the very first thing that Mary did was go over to George and embrace him in a thoroughly shameful romantic display. It made his stomach crawl, but it did prove that the two of them were incredibly codependent on each other.

Brenna may have seen the over public display of affection, but more than that, she saw that Mary was wearing the blue carbuncle necklace that Lucy had been wearing the night she was murdered. She was also certain that they were the real ones. She felt sickened. Mary was committing the ultimate betrayal. How could she be so short-sighted as to do that? Until she was trying to make a statement. Perhaps, she thought the fact that she was the girlfriend of the fence set beyond all reproach.

Once George and Mary were sufficiently sated of each other in their greeting, Mary looked to Brenna. "Mss King, I can't tell you how wonderful it is to meet you in person. I've heard so many good things about you."

"Really? I see that my reputation precedes me." Said Brenna, with a charming smile. She had to bury her disgust, bury her urge to wrap her hands around that little harlot's neck and shake some sense into her. They still had a job to do. "If you wouldn't mind, my partner and I have a tight schedule. Could we get straight to business?"

"Of course," said George, indicating that they should sit down in the circle of chairs that was in front of the desk. "Now, as I'm sure Mary told you, the reports of your success in our line our work is most impressive. We were wondering about the possibility of your joining us on future heists."

"And as I'm sure I told Mary over the phone, and with all due respect to the situation in which she now finds herself, it doesn't seem that any business connection with her would be a very sound investment."

"And what would that be?"

"The fact that one of your partners was murdered, and that the man responsible for it also an associate of yours has disappeared." said Sherlock.

"All the more reason for me to start afresh with someone else." Said Mary, casting a loving glance at George.

Brenna could see that still trying to go the diplomatic route on this would get them nowhere. Both of them were to sure and confidant to give themselves away. But, perhaps it was time to shake things up. "Tell me, did Lucy and James feel the same way?"

For just a moment, the façade faltered. Mary seemed startled by the statement, while George's congenial expression hardened with annoyance. It was clear that neither had expected this question and the fact that it had been asked gave them no joy.

"What makes you ask that?" said Mary, clearly stalling for time.

"One hears rumors in the community." said Brenna, "There were some reports of friction in your little group."

"Well, we always had our little disagreements. Every group does, I suspect. But, we never let it interfere with our work or our relationship."

"Really?" said Sherlock, "Because we heard from a rather reliable source that Mr. Ryder didn't approve of your relationship with Miss Holder."

"Mr. Hoskins," said George, smiling tightly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I fail to see what my personal relationship with Mary has to do with this."

"It might have to do with a great deal, since you were the one who killed Lucy Parr, with the full aid and support of Mary Holder."

Shocked silence filled the room at this statement. Brenna had to keep herself from screaming at Sherlock for blowing their cover. She settled for rolling her eye, and burying her head in her hands. Mary and George just seemed completely shocked, and not more than a little nervous.

"That's an utterly ridiculous accusation." Mary spluttered, "What possible reason could I have to kill Lucy? She was my friend, practically my sister."

Brenna decided that if she couldn't beat Sherlock, she might as well join them. She could only hope that Alice was listening in, and would send in help if things became too dangerous. "If that's the case, than why are you wearing those jewels? I saw Lucy wearing the blue carbuncles last time I spoke to her, the last night she was alive."

"What these?" said Mary, her hands clutching the jewels around her neck. "They're not the real. The jewels were taken from Lucy's body when she was killed. The real killer has them."

"In that case, you won't mind if I take a look at them?" Brenna challenged.

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but George cut her off, his voice was cold and harsh, all trace of good charm now gone. "You don't have to do that, Mary." He turned to them, "I was obviously wrong about you. You don't have any idea about your business at all. To even suggest that we would kill Lucy for the sake of expanding business is a ludicrous notion."

"By that last statement, you have implied that you would have a motive for killing Lucy." Said Sherlock.

"That's very true, actually." Said Brenna, "What's the matter, Mary? Did you think you could get a better deal on the coronet and carbuncles by shagging with the fence. Only James was catching onto you and Lucy 's support you couldn't guarantee, so you had Burnwell here kill her."

"Smother her, to be precise." Said Sherlock, "That's why there was no sign of a struggle. You came at Lucy from behind, and she wasn't strong enough to even match you. And you, Miss Holder, you were in the room at the same time. She thought she was amongst friends, which was why she never even saw it coming."

"And then you just decided to take the jewels for yourself, as a little memento."

Both Mary and George were silent, and it seemed as though they were unsure whether to be outraged, nervous or angry. They certainly weren't making any move to deny their accusers. Brenna took a step forward, bringing herself nearly face to face with Mary. "Are you aware of the history behind those blue carbuncles, Miss Holder? They are as much bathed in blood as they are in beauty. They have been the motivation for crimes of passion and greed. People have killed to possess them for a single night. The only place they really belong is a museum. Is it not strange that people are driven to steal what is in reality nothing more than a very attractive rock? It's almost enough to make one give up thievery altogether."

Brenna was deliberately backing Mary into a corner, trying to get her uncomfortable enough to spill something. And it worked. "But… but you know how these things work, Miss King. You have been in this line of work longer. You know that sometimes sacrifices have to be made in order to make a profit. It's the way the world works."

Brenna's face grew cold, and any sympathy she might have felt for Mary vanished instantly. "And you should have quickly learned that our way of life is uncertain and dangerous. We look for the beauty and artistry in life, and that does not involve murder. Murder is the one crime that can never be reversed. We have so few people to rely on in this world. Thieves must learn to rely on each other. And you have learned that too late."

Brenna had been so focused on Mary, that she hadn't even noticed that George had been edging towards the desk, until she heard Sherlock's warning, "Brenna, the gun. Look out!"

George had pulled out a gun from the drawer of the desk and was aiming it at Brenna. She reacted from years of instincts honed to moving at the first sign of danger. She immediately dropped to the floor and rolled away, hearing the gun shot going off, the bullet sailing where she had been only a few seconds before. Sherlock lunged for him, trying to get the gun away. But George was able to steer away from him. "Don't come any closer." He cried.

"Give it up, Burnwell." Said Sherlock, "You might as well surrender since you've incriminated yourself."

"He's right." Said Brenna, as she got to her feet. "You really shouldn't have done that."

At that very moment, the door to the hotel room burst open, and about a dozen police officers flooded into the room. Immediately, both George and Mary were surrounded. In the face of the odds, they really couldn't fight back. Alice came up to them, "It was only for murder and theft, Burnwell." She said, "And accessory to murder for your accomplice. Now, it's attempted murder of an undercover agent and an innocent bystander. Congratulations, you jut added another few decades to your sentence."

"You, you were with the police, all along." Said George accusingly at Brenna and Sherlock.

"Yes, we were. And you never even suspected it." Said Brenna, "That's hardly my fault."

"Very clever, I will admit." Said George, still trying to maintain his evidence in the face of overwhelming evidence, "But you still have no proof."

"I'm sure that we will once we get a match on those shoes, which happen to be the same ones which you were wearing the night of the murder. Did you never think about that? My, you certainly planned this murder poorly. Those shoes were the same ones that I saw on the carpet and balcony. They indicate not only your size, but also your height and gate. Add in any fingerprints that you might have left at the crime scene, and it will be more than easy to get a conviction." said Sherlock, "And besides, I think that you are forgetting one thing. There was one witness at the scene of the crime that will be more than willing to tell all that he knows."

As if it had all been prearranged (though it was more fortuitous timing than anything else), Patrick came into the room, leading James. At the sight of him, both Mary and George's faces became utterly shocked. They had no doubt thought that he had vanished from the face of the earth. It only took one look for James to see all that he needed. "Yeah, that's him." he said, "That's the guy who attacked me and stole the coronet."

"James!" cried Mary, "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking care of Lucy." Said James, "Which you should have done had you even the slightest idea what we were supposed to be to each other."

Mary appeared desperate. "He-he lied to me, James. He said that no one would get hurt."

"Tell that to Lucy." Spat James, before he turned to Patrick and said, "I need to leave now. I can't stand to be in the same room with that… that traitor."

Alice nodded for Patrick to take Alice from the room. She then moved towards George Burnwell, while another moved to intercept Mary. "George Burnwell, Mary Holder, you are both under arrest for murder, assault and theft." The two had no more fight in them, and were sullenly and silently led away.

"I hope that neither of them sees the light of day again for the next twenty years." said Brenna.

"You might be getting your wish, if the jury sees things your way, which I have no doubt they will." Said Alice, "I'm going to order my people to start canvassing this room; if we can find the beryl coronet, that would be the perfect ending to this day."

"Don't bother, I already know where it is." said Brenna.

And Sherlock said at almost the exact same moment, "I could find that for you quite easily."

There was a moment of silence. Sherlock and Alice looked at each other in surprise, while Alice looked from one to the other, unsure if she had just heard them right. "All right, where do you think it is and why?" said Brenna, at last.

"You didn't notice?" said Sherlock, "Burnwell was caressing that suitcase during our entire interview, though he was entirely unaware of it. I think that you know how some people can get something resembling sexual satisfaction in possessing something which they know they couldn't have. In this case, my guess is that Burnwell possessed the beryl coronet in his suitcase. It would be the most valuable piece he has. And didn't you notice how quickly he shut the suitcase when the two of us came in."

Brenna stared at Sherlock. "You think it's in the suitcase, too?"

"Yes. Did you deduce the same thing?"

"Yes. Don't look at like that, I observe things as well, but mine came more from the make and model of the suitcase rather then his behavior around it."

"What do you mean?"

"The suitcase is Italian made, most likely custom built for Burnwell. He's not the type of person who I would expect anything less from. I don't see why a suitcase like this would need such an elaborate lock." She gestured to the lock on the front of the suitcase. "The only reason you would need a lock like this, would be to protect something that you didn't want someone else to find." She glanced at Sherlock. "Being a private investigator, I don't suppose you happen to have a lock pick on you?"

Sherlock, who seemed surprised that she had gotten this far on her own, reached into his coat, and handed her his lock pick kit. She took it, and within a few minutes, she had expertly manipulated the lock into clicking open. She opened the suitcase, and sure enough, resting on the bottom of the suitcase, was the beryl coronet. "A piece of history recovered for the people." said Brenna, as she picked it up gently and handed it to Alice. "No doubt the Victoria and Albert Museum will be happy to get it back."

* * *

As Mary Holder and George Burnwell were led through the lobby of the hotel, Brenna noticed that someone was watching with particular interest. Slipping away from the rest (which was easy enough as they were all looking out for the two real criminals), and made her way over to him. "Watching your enemies go down from behind a newspaper, Shane?" she said, with a smile, "That's so unoriginal."

Shane lowered the newspaper and grinned at Brenna. "Merely wanted a front row seat to seeing that slime Burnwell get what he deserves, not to mention that little tart Holder. Imagine selling out your partners for the mere sake of making a quicker buck."

Brenna nodded her agreement. For thieves like themselves who were part of the old school and actually had honor amongst themselves, betrayal was the highest crime and one that deserved severe punishment. "I think you're here for another reason." Said Brenna, "Perhaps seeing what the after affects will be for the auction?"

Shane smirked. "Well, in the face of the fact that the fence of the Underground is now behind bars for murder, and when word gets around that he was stealing from one of the sellers, they will start looking for someone who has a long and upstanding history with the establishment, someone who has an outstanding reputation…"

"Someone like you?"

"Whatever gave you that idea? Though, now that you mention it, I would be an ideal candidate, wouldn't I? By the way, I might have been too hard on you when you first took this assignment. If you hadn't exposed Burnwell, I might never have gotten this opportunity. I owe you thanks."

"I'll hold you to that. Just remember, there might be advantages to you by me working on the right side now."

The two exchanged smiles, before Shane disappeared behind his newspaper and Brenna returned to the police cars that had surrounded the hotel outside. She found Sherlock waiting for her. "Where were you?" he asked.

"Just saying hello to a friend. No one missed me, did they?"

"I don't think so. Inspector Bennett was just putting Burnwell and Holder into custody. I do like that part."

"Really?"

"Well, there is a certain amount of satisfaction in proving to criminals who think they have gotten away with the perfect crime that all their best laid plans have been for naught."

"Now that you mention it, that is kind of fun." They stood in silence for a moment, neither really knowing what to say. It had been a frustrating and challenging week. They had been forced to work through their mutual stubbornness, and look beyond their initial impressions of each other. Such things were not easy for them. However, they had also found that working together was quite stimulating, for when they were not arguing, they had found someone, perhaps for the first time, who understood what it was they did. They still didn't like each other, but maybe, they could understand each other.

"You know, Mr. Holmes," said Brenna, with a smile, "You are not as bad as half the force says you are."

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this. It was not every day, after all, that he was greeted with understanding. But then, working with Brenna Ryan had admittedly not been as bad as he had thought it would be. She had proven herself to be intelligent and willing to go through a great deal of difficulty. She did not see the most obvious solution to a problem, but all possibilities. That was something he wasn't used to seeing. So, perhaps it just might be worth it to return the complement. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite sure how to do that. "And you, you are competent."

By all accounts, that was an odd complement, and some might have been offended. But, Brenna got the feeling that Sherlock was not a man who gave such complements, however grudgingly it might have been giving. "Well, thank you, Sherlock. However, you might want to know that you still haven't found out that last little thing about me."

Sherlock glared at her, wondering suddenly if he could retract his previous statement. To be honest, he truly didn't know that last ting about Brenna. "No, I don't."

"Do you want me to tell you?"

"No, I don't. I'll figure it out."

"Sherlock, if you haven't managed to deduce it by now. You probably never will."

"You have a very confidant idea of your own mysteriousness, Miss Ryan. But I think I've already told you that such things don't work with me."

"I'll leave you to your delusions, Sherlock."

The consulting detective was about to make a truly withering reply, when Alice Bennett came up to them. "Well, I've just finished reading the rights to our jewel thieves. They won't be stealing anything for a very long time." She looked at Sherlock. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Holmes. This case would have been a lot more difficult to solve without you."

"I won't dispute that." said Sherlock, with his usual lack of modesty.

"However, don't forget that you did have some help." Said Brenna.

"Yes, perhaps we could make use of this system in the future."

Brenna and Sherlock both looked at each other, and it was clear from just their expressions that the idea of repeating this experience in the future did not give them a great deal of joy. "Or perhaps not." Said Alice, trying to hide a smile, "Good work on your first undercover assignment, Brenna. This should fly in the face of everyone who said you couldn't be trusted with those jewels."

"You perhaps shouldn't mention that I did think about it." said Brenna.

Sherlock was staring at the two of them. "Wait, how can this be your first undercover case? You show to much experience."

Alice looked at Brenna. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"I have to admit, the subject never really came up."

"I see, well, Sherlock, you would be right to say that Brenna has a great deal of experience on the shadier side of the law, it just happens that this was her first time doing it on our side." Sherlock still didn't really know what was going on, a state of mind that he wasn't used to, to say the least. "However, I hate to say it, but now that we've solved the case, I'm afraid that you have to back onto official

"Do I have to wear it again?" said Brenna, "I do really prefer the bracelet, it's so much more attractive?"

"It's not standard issue, Brenna." Said Alice, as se held out the tracking anklet. "I'm afraid it's not in the Yard's budget to start making tracking devices out of genuine diamonds."

"Why do people always bring up the budget whenever someone has a really good idea?" Alice merely gave her The Look, and Brenna could only take the anklet and put it around her leg. "Well, Big Sister is watching me again."

"And don't pretend you don't enjoy it."

Sherlock was finally beginning to understand. It suddenly all made sense now, Brenna's in depth understanding of criminal actions, the strange suspicion that seemed to follow her wherever she went, and now this tracking device. Sherlock only now saw what Brenna's secret was. "I see." he said, "You were the one who was the thief not so long ago. That's why you knew so much, and were so good at it. Your time, your very freedom could all be on the line if you put one step wrong."

"I knew you'd get it eventually." Brenna was waiting for it. The suspicion, the slight retreat from her presence, as though a person feared that she might steal from them. She was waiting for the respect that she thought she had seen growing in Sherlock to disappear. She may have said that she didn't care about the opinion of someone like Sherlock. But at the same time, it had been almost refreshing to have one person treat her with respect. But that's not the reaction that she received. In fact, when she looked into Sherlock's face, she was stunned to see that he was smiling, genuinely impressed. "Brilliant." He said, "I didn't think that you could have known so much about the inside workings of the criminal mind if you were just a police officer. There was something about you that was different. I'm glad to see that the police force is making use of someone like you. If only they had the sense to do so more often. It would make crimes like this so much easier to solve."

Brenna was stunned. For the first time since she had met Sherlock, she had no idea what to say. Did Sherlock of all people think that she wasn't some sort of juvenile delinquent immediately? Wasn't he the one who caught the criminals for a living? How was she supposed to react to the fact that someone found her criminal past to be not only as asset, but almost something to be admired?

"I'll try to take your advice, Sherlock." Said Alice, if all the criminals on work release were as cooperative as Brenna is."

Brenna finally managed to get over her surprise at Sherlock's reaction and said, "And that is something which I don't know if you can count on."

"So, I suppose that this is goodbye, is it, Miss Ryan?" said Sherlock.

"I suppose." Said Brenna, "Until next time."

"Yes, until next time."

It was the beginning of what would become a successful, if somewhat fraught and stormy partnership between Sherlock Holmes and Brenna Ryan. They couldn't have known how much this first case together would change their lives.

* * *

Please read and review. We are speedily reaching the end of this episode. In just a few more chapters, we will be moving into the Great Game, and there will be many twists and turns to be found in that particular episode. Look for that to be coming sometime in December.

Next chapter: Brenna and Sherlock rush in to save the day. With the Black Lotus finally under control, the two of them can focus on some more attractive prospects for spending their time, like actually going on a real date.


	22. Black Tramway

I have some time on my hands today, so I am going to post the last three chapters of this story right now. Think of it as an early Thanksgiving present.

Black Tramway:

It was finally over. Brenna and Sherlock had managed to save both Sarah and John at the very last moment from being killed by the leaders of the Black Lotus. Shan, the Black Lotus General that Soo Lin had spoken of, had been the elderly Chinese woman at the circus. Somehow, they had mistaken John for Sherlock Holmes himself, and had kidnapped both him and Sarah because they believed that Sherlock Holmes possessed the thing which they had come all the way to London to find, a hairpin worth nine million pounds.

They had been about to kill Sarah to get John to talk, but Brenna and Sherlock had managed to get rid of the guards and free them before it was too late.

They had managed to get both of Shan's followers, including Zhi Zhou. Shan, however, had escaped in the midst of all the confusion. A search of the surrounding area yielded nothing. She had disappeared.

When the police and paramedics arrived on the scene, it was pretty much all over except for the formal arrest and incarceration of the felons. Thankfully, Sarah had not suffered any permanent damage. Despite everything, she still seemed to be interested in John, which Brenna was frankly relieved at. John may have come out of his shell a lot since coming to live with Sherlock, but he still seemed to have a problem opening up to people. Though he was a bit more adept at navigating social situations and relating to people than Sherlock, she had noticed how he kept people, even those in his own family, at arm's length. In that way, he was not all that different from Sherlock. That was probably why they got on so well together.

Among the officers who had come to the scene were Alice Bennett, and Inspector Dimmock. "Good work, again." said Alice, once the two Black Lotus guards had been ferried from the scene. "You two do always manage to bring in the bad guys. If it weren't for you and John, we might have had a harder time bringing them in."

"Just make sure that neither of them will be getting out for a long time." said Brenna.

"Believe me, the only thing that they'll be having a chance to smuggle will be prison rations."

Dimmock arrived with Alice. It must be admitted that his previous ideas of both Brenna and Sherlock were turning out to be completely wrong. And that was confirmed even more when Sherlock and Brenna were leaving the crime scene. "We'll just slip off quietly," said Sherlock, "No need to mention this in your report."

Dimmock was totally stunned when he heard this. Sherlock Holmes was essentially the one who had solved the case. Dimmock was man enough to admit that. But he had expected that Sherlock would have demanded some sort of credit for it. He wasn't even bragging. That was the last thing that Dimmock had expected. "Mr. Holmes-"

"I have high hopes for you, Inspector." Said Sherlock, quite sincerely, "A glittering career."

"After all," said Brenna, "it's not every DI who's been able to solve two murders and bust a major smuggling ring on his first big case. You'll be more than able to build on that success in the future."

Now Dimmock was struck by Brenna Ryan, the former thief he had so quickly disregarded before. It was due to her efforts as well that this case had been broken. Her knowledge and skills was every bit as strong as his own. But she had also placed her own safety on the line to help others, as had Sherlock. They both worked to keep the criminals off the streets, their methods were simply different. And if that were the case, Dimmock had to wonder how they were so very different from him?

"Will I?"

"Of course, as long as you keep an open mind. You're learning to listen. Don't let go of that. It will be invaluable in the future."

Dimmock seemed to understand all that Brenna was saying. "I go where you point me."

Sherlock and Brenna began to walk off, but Sherlock couldn't seem to resist shouting over his shoulder. "Exactly."

"You had to say that, didn't you?" said Brenna, in a low voice.

"It doesn't hurt to remind him." said Sherlock, "But I have good feelings about Dimmock's future. He might very well turn out to be one of Scotland Yard's finest." Sherlock may have had an ego the size of Mount Everest at times, and he really did enjoy showing off. However, there was also a strange humility in his spirit. He took satisfaction in a job well done. He didn't need praise or adulation from the entire human race, only from the people who really mattered. And he recognized talent when he saw it. If Dimmock had Sherlock's confidence, there was a chance he might go very far indeed.

As Sherlock and Brenna proceeded away from the crime scene, they watched John and Sarah, who were walking a little ways ahead of them. "I think that we'll soon be seeing whether or not Sarah can handle a typical date with you along."

"Was this a typical date, then?" Sherlock asked.

"For you, yes, perfectly. It's not a typical date unless it involves some element of danger."

"But not what you call a normal date?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Sherlock."

Sherlock shot her a look, and his expression was genuinely curious. "Does it bother you that I've taken you on a normal date?"

"What? No of course, it doesn't?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Okay, I might sometime swish for a little more effort from you in terms of how you approach our outings, but trust me, Sherlock, that's not all I need to make me happy in a relationship. In fact, if you were the normal romantic type, I probably wouldn't be interested in you. I find you much more attractive as your analytical, sociopathic self. At least I know then that everything you say from your heart is really meant."

"Are you trying to pay me a complement?" Sherlock asked who seemed slightly unsure as to the answer.

Brenna laughed and looped her arm around Sherlock's. "As a matter of fact, yes I am, Sherlock. Believe it or not, it's what people who love each other do."

"Oh, I'll try and remember that, thank you." said Sherlock, grinning at her. He was truly lucky to have Brenna in his life. Relationships were still new to him, and though he still had some doubts about the practicality of such emotions, right now, it was a good thing.

In fact, he was starting to think and plan a new venture into this dating realm. Maybe, as Brenna said, it was time to experiment with a normal date.


	23. Wrapping Up the Case

Wrapping Up the Case:

Soo Lin Yao's injuries had been severe. In the immediate hours after the attack, there had been some question of her survival. However, Soo Lin had been through quite a lot in her life, and she proved resilient even now. The day after the Black Lotus had been discovered and its agents arrested, Brenna was at the hospital, with the recovering Soo Lin.

"You don't have to worry anymore." said Brenna, "We arrested Zhi Zhou, and the rest. They were arrested and are in custody now."

"What will happen to him, my brother?" asked Sao Lin, quietly.

Brenna was silent for a moment. "He will be charged with the murder of those two men. Given the amount of evidence we have against him, he will most likely be given the death penalty."

Soo Lin closed her eyes, and she said nothing for a few minutes. Despite all that he had done, to her and others, she still loved him. This was a difficult thing for her to accept. Brenna said nothing, waiting until she was ready. "You must think me foolish." Said Soo Lin, at last, when she looked at Brenna once more. "You must think that my brother doesn't deserve to be mourned. But he wasn't always so cold-blooded."

"I do understand, actually." Said Brenna, gently, "I know how it feels to let your family down, and to be rejected by them. It's a hard thing."

"What will happen to me now?" Soo Lin asked, uncertainly.

"You learn to move on." Said Brenna, "You create a new life for yourself, find new people to fill your heart with. It's not an easy thing, but you may be surprised to know how many are willing to help."

"But my past-"

"Is in the past. You have to leave it there. Now that we know what to look for, the Black Lotus won't bother you anymore. You can start by going back to your job at the museum."

"But I resigned. I can't go back."

"Actually you can. The museum staff has been informed of the circumstances of your case. Your job is waiting for you once you can work again."

Soo Lin seemed surprised. Obviously, she didn't know why someone like Brenna would want to help her. "Can I start again?"

"I did." said Brenna, "And believe me, I was guilty of worse things than you ever were."

Soo Lin for the first time in a long while, felt an odd sense of relief, and also, release. There might yet be time to start again. And no sooner had the thought gone through her head, then a new and familiar voice was heard. "Soo Lin?"

Soo Lin looked past Brenna, and the first real smile that Brenna had seen on her face appeared. "Andy."

Brenna looked around to see the young museum worker peer nervously through the door. "Please come in, Andy. I was just leaving."

Andy came in a bit hesitantly, at first. But when he saw that smile on Soo Lin's face, he couldn't help but return it. "Hello, Soo Lin. I brought these." He indicated the flowers he had brought. "They aren't much, but I thought that they might brighten your hospital stay."

Soo Lin's face indicated that they would, but it was Andy's presence that was making it more bearable. Brenna took the time to quietly slip out. She believed that Soo Lin Yao would turn out to be just fine.

As she was leaving the hospital, she got a call from Sherlock. "If you're finished at the hospital, you should get down to Sanderson's."

"Okay, I'll play along. How did you know I was here?"

"Because Soo Lin Yao is recovering and you wanted to check up on her, because you see a kindred spirit in her. Also, despite all your protestations to the contrary, you're a really a romantic at heart, and believe that happy endings should happen to everyone."

"So, sue me."

"You do realize that such sentiments are for the most part merely illusions with no hint of reality?"

"Strange you should say that, Sherlock. We're having one."

"We're not having an ending." Said Sherlock, "As far as I can tell we're nowhere near ending, unless you were planning on breaking up with me."

Brenna laughed. "No, I suppose I'm not. I'll be right there."

* * *

Brenna met up with Sherlock and John at the bank. Sherlock had already managed to figure out the sequence of events which had led up to the murders of Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis. "Two operatives, based in London. They traveled over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. And then one of them helped himself to something. A little hair pin."

"Worth nine million pounds apparently." Said John, incredulously.

"Now the only question was which one of them took it." said Brenna.

"Eddie Van Coon was the thief." Said Sherlock, with his usual decisiveness. "He stole the treasure when he was over in China."

"How'd you know it was Van Coon, and not Lukis. Even the killer didn't know that."

"Because of the soap." Said Sherlock, as he went through the revolving door of the bank.

It was due to his powers of observation that Sherlock had managed to figure this whole thing out. One little detail that would normally have been overlooked or ignored was the one important fact that Sherlock remembered: the hand lotion on Van Coon's PA's desk.

The two of them approached Amanda,as Sherlock called her on his cell phone. When she answered, he said, "He brought you a present."

"Oh, hello."

"When he came back from China. A little gift."

"How did you know that?"

By this point, both Brenna and Sherlock were both behind her. "You weren't just his PA were you?"

Amanda was startled. She turned around to see that Sherlock was behind her and had been talking on the phone the entire time. "Someone's been gossiping." She said, looking a little flustered.

"No." said Sherlock.

"Then I don't understand."

"Hand soap in his flat. Scented hand soap. Three hundred millimeters. Almost finished."

Amanda was understandably confused. "Sorry."

"I don't think Eddie Van Coon was the type of chap to buy himself hand soap. Not unless he had a lady coming over. And it's the same brand as that hand cream there on your desk."

Amanda was flustered at Sherlock's incisive deductions. "I… look... It wasn't serious between us. It was over in a flash. It couldn't last. He was my boss."

But Brenna could tell by her tone that was not what Amanda had necessarily wanted. So could Sherlock. "What happened? Why did you end it?"

"I thought he was taking me for granted. That he didn't appreciate me. Stood me up once to often. We'd plan to go away for the weekend and then suddenly he'd leave. Fly off to China at a moment's notice."

"But he brought you a present from aboard to say sorry."

"And you must have appreciated it, because you're wearing it right now." said Brenna, Amanda's eyes widened with surprise, as she figured out what Brenna was saying. She held out her hand. "Could I just have a look at it, please?"

Amanda seemed to consider for a moment, and then reached into her hair and removed the pin. She handed it to Brenna. "Said he brought it in a street market."

"Oh no, I don't think that's true. I think he pinched it." said Sherlock.

Amanda laughed half heartedly. "Yeah, that's Eddie."

Brenna was looking closely at the engraving of the jade pin, the age of the stone, and she quickly started putting together the pin's story. "Definitely Chinese, 1400 years old I'd say, and judging by the engraving, I'd say that this belonged to the Empress Wu Zetian." Amanda looked at Brenna in confusion. She obviously had no idea what she was talking about. "She was the only woman ruler of China. However, nothing of her's had ever been found." She shook her head. "Without even being aware of its value, Eddie saw to it that would be well off."

"Didn't know its value, just thought it would suit you."

"Really?" said Amanda, a little skeptical, "What's it worth?"

Brenna's grin widened, as she replied. "Nine million pounds."

There was a long moment of silence. Amanda just stared at the two of them, her eyes growing wider and wider, as the full weight of Brenna's statement gradually dawned on her. Then, her mouth dropped open; she bolted to her feet, and began to shriek in complete astonishment. Sherlock and Brenna merely looked at each other and smiled. "Don't forget to give it back." Said Sherlock.

"The thought never even crossed my mind." Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "All right, maybe it did, for a few seconds."

* * *

A short while later, Brenna and Sherlock were in the lobby of the bank, getting ready to leave. They were joined by John and Sebastian. "Well, old buddy, I can't thank you enough for you help." Said Sebastion, though despite his professed gratitude, it was quite clear that his feelings towards Sherlock were condescending to say the least.

It was also clear that Sherlock's opinion of Sebastion was rather low. "Consider it a favor." He said, with an abruptness that said everything she needed about their past friendship, or lack thereof.

"I'll remember in the future should I need help." Sebastion then turned his attention to Brenna, "And I'll be sure to ask for your expertise by name in the future, Miss Ryan. You seem to have a number of skills that could prove very useful in the future."

Brenna could not have been anymore repulsed to Sebastion. And his less than flattering propositions did little to endear him to her. "I highly doubt that any skills I have would be welcome to you."

"I would like to have a chance to decide that for myself." Said Sebastion, with an oily smile, "Since you're not personally involved on this case anymore, why don't we have dinner tonight?"

Brenna opened her mouth to respond that dinner would be impossible to get since she would be relieving him of some of his teeth if he didn't stop, but Sherlock beat her to it. "You actually can't make dinner tonight, Brenna. You remember, you are having dinner with me tonight."

Sebastion seemed to find Sherlock's statement humorous. He laughed. "You're being rather ungallant, Sherlock. Can't you let the lady speak for herself? Besides, what self-respecting woman would want to have dinner with you?"

Brenna would already have been well-assured of her answer anyway; however Sebastian's words had descended from condescending to being down right cruel. And though Sherlock hid it well, Brenna still saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. This clearly wasn't the first time that he had suffered under Sebastian's barbed tongue.

What was more, it was clear by Sebastian's smug expression that he clearly expected her to fall at his feet. Therefore, it made her answer all the more satisfying to state. "Um, actually you're quite right, Sherlock. I must have forgotten."

Sebastian's smugness faltered and he gaped at Brenna in surprise. Sherlock was now the one who looked more than a little triumphant at Sebastian's being put down. "You do have some problems remembering things of such a nature. It's a good thing for you that I'm patient enough to put up with such things."

"But you can't actually be serious going out with this freak?" said Sebastion. "Do you have any idea what he's like?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed suddenly with anger his arm wrapped around Brenna's waist, pulling her into him with a decidedly possessive air. Brenna's clear acceptance and enjoyment of this display on Sherlock's part rammed home the fact that she was already spoken for. "Oh, she does know, Sebastion." Said Sherlock, in a cold, almost menacing tone, "And I can assure you that she is serious, _very_ serious." He speared Sebastian a few seconds more with a glare of acute disapproval and disgust, before he turned around without another word, Brenna still tucked firmly into his side.

Sebastian still seemed rather incredulous about the entire thing. "I can't believe it. The man never so much as looks at a girl the whole time we're at UNI, and he manages to pick up a dish like that. I thought that she seemed to have better taste than go to go out with someone like Sherlock Holmes." He looked at John. "What could she possibly see in him? the only thing that I can imagine is that she must think he can show her a good time in bed, though how that can be-"

John had heard enough by this point. He wasn't going to stand by and hear Sherlock and Brenna, two people who were beginning to mean a lot to him, talked about like this. "Let me just set you straight on several points, Mr. Wilkes. Brenna and Sherlock are in a relationship because they happen to be in love with each other, and as hard as it might be for you to believe, Sherlock is more than capable of that. He respects Brenna, which is more than I can say for you. You were the one who seemed to be looking for a one night shag, so that actually makes you the freak in this case. Lastly, I can assure you that Brenna has taste. In fact, she has better judgment that most people, because she could obviously see very clearly through you. Just forget about her, because you will _never_ come up to her level."

With that, John turned and walked away, leaving behind a speechless Sebastian. However, right before he was out the door, John looked back and said, "Oh, and you wouldn't want to get to know Brenna better anyway. She happens to be an accomplished thief. She would rob you blind without you even knowing about it."

* * *

Sherlock was grinning triumphantly as he and Brenna came out of the bank. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Brenna asked.

"I will admit that I derived more than a little satisfaction out of it. Sebastian was always bragging about how he could always get any woman that he wanted. That never really bothered me since most of those women were empty-headed morons. But I am glad to see that a real woman with taste and sense could see through him so easily."

Brenna realized that Sherlock was playing her a complement. She smiled, believing that she was quite possibly the luckiest woman in the world. Strange when one considered that probably no other woman in the world have tolerated Sherlock, let alone fallen in love with him. But maybe that was a blessing in disguise. After all, that did cut out any chance of competition.

"It's not to hard to see past men like Sebastian Wilkes." Said Brenna, "Give them enough money, and they think that they don't need a personality. However, it's always fun to show them that money isn't everything. It might help, but it's certainly not everything. And I must say, you are actually getting much better at lying."

Sherlock looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You told Sebastian that we had a date tonight, when in fact we don't, and he believed you. I almost did to for a minute, which is a clear sign of improvement."

"But we are going on a date tonight."

"Oh, really, when were you going to tell me that?"

"Well, I was going to ask you after we left the bank, but Sebastian rather upset that. I assume that it's not a distasteful prospect for you."

"No, of course not. Where are we going?"

"How would you feel about St. Martin's in the Field's?"

Brenna stopped and looked at Sherlock in evident surprise. "Did you say St. Martin's in the Fields'?"

"Yes."

"Why on earth are you taking me there?"

"You've often told me how much you appreciate the concerts that they give. And I saw that on the program tonight, it's German music. German music is good for ruminating, and I like ruminating over dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Of course, there is a café in the crypt. Another thing you've told me is that you enjoy their soup. I thought it make for a nice evening out."

Brenna was almost at a loss for words. "Are you trying to tell me that you, Sherlock Holmes are going to take me on a real, normal date?"

"It's an experiment, to see if normal dates can actually add anything to a relationship like ours."

"Are you sure that you won't get bored being surrounded by so normality."

Sherlock smiled, the tender, genuine smile that was reserved only for her. "How can I ever be completely bored when I'm with you?"

"When you put it like that, I suppose you can't. Any suggestions as to what I should wear?"

"I'll leave that to your feminine expertise. Surprise me. The only ting I would suggest." Sherlock's hand moved up to her head, touching her hair and running his hands through it. "Your hair, wear it down." Sherlock may have said that physical attributes meant nothing to him, but Brenna knew that he had an appreciation for her hair that could border on the obsessive. He made no secret of the fact that he liked to see it down.

"I'll see to that request myself."

"I look forward to it." Brenna reached up and gave Sherlock a lingering kiss. This time, there really was no hesitation in him returning it. He even wrapped is arms around, pulling her close. Brenna made a mental note to add Sherlock's lack of caring what other people might think of them kissing in public as being an added bonus of dating a consulting detective. "See you tonight."

John, seeing that both of them were in a private moment, had lingered behind, but once Brenna got into the cab he came up to stand beside Sherlock. He couldn't help but notice that Sherlock's smile was in danger of splitting his face in two. "You're good at hiding it." he commented to Sherlock.

"What?" said Sherlock, looking at him.

"You're good at hiding the fact that you have a little bit of the romantic in you, even if you only show it with Brenna."

Sherlock quickly replaced his smile with that of his normally neutral, detached expression. "I have no idea what you're talking about?"

"You taking Brenna on a date. You can't tell me that this was just on a whim, you actually planned. That shows you have some need to impress her."

"Tonight's events are strictly an experiment, John. It has nothing to do with satisfying some childish, emotional need to show off."

"Of course not, just like working with Brenna was purely professional. Admit it, Sherlock; you enjoy mixing business with pleasure."

Sherlock glared at him. "If I admit you are perhaps slightly correct, will you shut up?"

John had to grin. Riling Sherlock up was enough fun to make all the drawbacks of being his flat mate more than worth it. "For now, Sherlock, for now."

* * *

You've got to love John when he goes into his protective mode. He is really the perfect friend.


	24. Secrets

This is the final chapter of A Thief's Mystery. It also begins to set up a lot of things for an arc which will be going throughout the second season. Enjoy!

Secrets:

As Brenna was getting ready for her date, an unexpected visitor dropped by. It was none other than Shane. She was in such an incredibly good mood because her impending date with Sherlock she didn't at first notice the expression on his face. "Shane, what are you doing here?"

The older man's face was slightly disturbed. "Brenna, is now a bad time?"

"I don't know, that might depend on what you want to say. Shane, is everything all right?"

"Why don't I come in and tell you? I'll try to keep it brief."

Shane came into the flat and the two of them say down. On the coffee table, Shane noticed something. "You got a letter today from Martha. As in your sister, Martha?"

Brenna, who had been in the kitchen pouring Shane a cup of coffee, came back into the room. She looked at the letter. "Yes, it's the fifth one that I've gotten in the last few months."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Really, what does she want with you? The last I head, she wanted nothing to do with you."

"That was my mom and Kathleen, Shane. For what it's worth, Martha did try to speak up for me."

"Just so she could get rid of you. Why is she writing to you now? I thought none of them wanted to see you again."

"Well, Martha has told me that she wants to get back in touch with me."

"Whatever have you been writing about? Your latest assignment that's been given to you as a result of your work release? What part her kids got in the school play?"

"Well, actually, yes. It turns out that Rose just got the part of Cinderella at her school. And it just so happens that Martha has taken an interest in some of my cases at the Yard. She always did share my appreciation for late sixteenth century Italian painters. Does that answer your questions?"

Shane held his hands. "Hey, okay, I surrender. It's your life and your family, after all. The last thing I want to do is antagonize you right now."

"Thank you." said Brenna, "Now, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about? Is it about what you started to tell me about Alice the other day, but you never got around to? What you promised to tell once this case was tied up?"

"Yes. But I'm afraid that it's not going to be any easier for you to hear it now than it would have been then."

"Well, just start from the beginning."

"Brenna, you know that I would never do anything that would cause you pain. I have done my best to look after you, from the time you started your career, to even right now, when you're trying to put my life back together. I know how much you respect Bennett, though she does watch you. I wouldn't have brought this to you if I didn't think that you needed to know something that she wasn't telling you."

Brenna was puzzled and suddenly worried. "Shane, if you have something to tell me, just let it out."

"All right, but I don't think you're going to like it. Remember how I asked you about the possibility of Bennett having an affair with another man. Well, I didn't actually think it myself. I just wanted to see what your reaction to the idea might be."

"And I told you that would be impossible. But, if you didn't think that Alice was having an affair, than why didn't you even ask me that question?"

"Because I wanted to know if there was anything suspicious in Bennett's behavior recently. But judging from your reaction, I know that there hasn't been anything. So, I need to show you what I have managed on my own to find." From the suitcase he had been carrying, he withdrew a file folder.

"You have a file on my supervising officer?"

Shane looked at her, as though he couldn't see what the problem was supposed to be. "Why should that surprise you?" He asked, "She has a file on you, doesn't she?"

"Sorry, I asked." Muttered Brenna, "I suppose that it really shouldn't surprise me. So tell me, what's in this file that's so important?"

Shane said nothing, but merely handed it to her. Brenna looked through it, and she was actually surprised by what she found. Inside, there were several pictures of Alice on CCTV cameras, meeting at places like street corners, coffee shops, and other places that were public and yet common enough that no one would think anything of it. Shane had been right about one thing: Alice had been meeting with someone, and she had been doing her best to keep it a secret. However, what shocked Brenna to the core was who she had been meeting with.

"That's Mycroft Holmes." She breathed, once she was actually able to speak again.

"So, you do know him." said Shane.

"Of course, I would know that umbrella anywhere, not to mention that superior expression."

"And when you say, Holmes, you wouldn't be referring to a certain consulting detective that we both know."

"Yes, Mycroft is his older brother. He has a minor position in the British government and when I say that, I mean that he is the British Government."

"Oh, one of those types, eh?" said Shane, his usual paranoia of anything that smelled of official law enforcement. "So, what's he doing with Big Sister?"

"Well, I can say that she's not having an affair with him. Mycroft Holmes has the sexual attraction of a turnip."

"That might be a matter of opinion." Said Shane, mildly, "But, if it's not a clandestine romantic meeting, that still leaves the question of what they are doing meeting? Unfortunately, I think I also have the answer for that as well. They want these meetings to be secret, specifically from you."

"Me? What on earth could they have to talk about that should be kept secret from me?" Shane was about to answer, but than Brenna held up a hand. "I almost wonder if I want to know." She got to her feet and began to pace. "You don't know what Mycroft is capable of. I don't want to become involved in anything that has Mycroft Holmes as a central player. He is not a man to be crossed or trifled with, Shane. In fact, if he even knew that you were stalking him like this, he would probably be able to get rid of you and make it look like an accident."

"But he hasn't, has he?" said Shane, "Brenna, this is serious." He picked up a few pieces of paper stapled together, and handed them out to her. "Here, look at this. It's a transcript from a phone call that I managed to intercept from her cell phone a few months ago. I haven't brought it up until now, though I thought it suspicious at the time. I just thought it was maybe a passing fluke, brought on by the endless machine of the police force. But then Alice started meeting with Umbrella Man here, I thought that it involved something more."

"Just how did you manage to get a tap on Alice's phone?"

"I have my methods. Look at the date, sound familiar?"

"That's the night that Mycroft took me." said Brenna. At Shane's almost concerned look, she explained, "It was more like an interview. He just wanted to make sure that I was actually serious about going out with Sherlock. He never intended to hurt me."

"Well, either way, Alice seemed to take exception to it. Just look at the transcript."

Alice did indeed have some choice words for Mycroft Holmes. She had demanded to know where Mycroft is taking Brenna and why, having apparently seen Brenna getting into the black car from her office window in the Yard building. Though Shane hadn't known that it was Mycroft on the other line, Brenna could practically hear Mycroft's voice in the choice of his words. He had assured Alice that she didn't need to be concerned.

The next few replies only added to the mystery. Alice had taken Brenna under her wing to protect her. If Mycroft harmed her, the whole operation could be botched. Mycroft assured Alice that he wished to speak to Brenna on a personal matter. Her work history had nothing to do with it.

Brenna had to read the entire transcript of the call over again before it finally sunk in. "Did you have any idea that she knew you had been shanghaied?" said Shane.

"No, she never dropped a hint. In fact, I had no idea that she was even seeing Mycroft. I didn't know that she knew him at all."

"What about this operation they're talking about? I've seen some references to it in other transcripts I've intercepted. It seems that you're at the center of it, though I still can't understand why."

"No." said Brenna, "But it sounds like Alice wanted to take me into her custody for another reason besides just wanting to redeem my social image."

"Look, Brenna," said Shane, "I didn't want to cause you any feeling of distrust between you and Alice, but I just felt that if something like this is going on, you at least had the right to know."

Brenna sighed deeply and handed Alice's file back to Shane. "I know that Shane. You and Alice both have my best interests at heart. It's just that sometimes both of you have very different ideas as to what that should be. I'll be on the lookout for anything suspicious in Alice's behavior. But I also can't say that I will be out to look for any reason to condemn her."

"I suppose that I didn't really expect anything beyond that. I'm just glad hat you listened to me."

The conversation had left Brenna with many questions, some of the she had never thought to consider before. One of the things she had learned during her time as a criminal was to ever let anyone else in; to trust no one. Ever since reforming herself, she had rediscovered the great freedom that came from trusting others, even if they were most unlikely of people to do so. She had trusted Alice, but now, she found that some small seed of doubt had been planted, and it was not a feeling that she liked.

However, Brenna as unaware of the full extent of the plots which surrounded her. She did not even think that she was being watched from another quarter. When she got home that night from her date with Sherlock, she found an eye spray painted onto her mailbox. As her mind was filled with both the warm glow of a date with Sherlock and her concern over what Shane had told her, she was only caught a little off-guard by the sight. Indeed, it did not strike her as at all threatening, beyond being a nuisance.

She did not know that the eye was a warning. The truth was that there were many other people interested in Brenna Ryan, people who, unlike Alice, did not have her best interests at heart. She did not know that an even greater mystery involving her past, her family and herself was brewing, nor that she herself was about to be caught in the middle.

* * *

Whoa! It seems that Brenna just might have a few more challenges to overcome. Just why is it that Alice and Mycroft are meeting in secret? what is this strange operation of which they were speaking? And just who is it that is watching Brenna, and what does he want from her? Some questions will be answered, but more just might be put forward in the unfolding drama. I hope that you have enjoyed this second installment of A Thief's Life. Please read and review one last time.

Stay tuned for A Thief's Game, coming soon to fan fiction.


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